


Emerald In the Sky

by BynSpyn



Series: For Elise [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 69,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BynSpyn/pseuds/BynSpyn
Summary: Dipper and Pacifica, newly sixteen, have been hanging out together for the past three years. Together, they drive to Seattle to attend a concert for the twins' birthday. Along the way, they'll encounter weirdness, emotions, and lots of coffee.
Relationships: Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines
Series: For Elise [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873972
Comments: 38
Kudos: 153





	1. Introduction

Hey, everyone. A little bit of backstory before we get started with the story—I promise I’ll be quick.

This story follows Dipper and Pacifica immediately after the twins’ 16th birthday on a four day trip to Seattle. They’ve been hanging out together for the past three years, but aren’t a thing—yet. That’s all you get to know now. If you want to know more, read on!

I wrote this entire thing in the span of about six days, in a furious burst of energy. Don’t know why, but the creative spirit visited me. It’s not up the to the level of _‘Anyway, I’ve Been There,’_ just for the sake of the length and the time that’s been put into it, but I still believe that it’s pretty good.

The actual route that our beloved Pines and Northwest follow is one that I’ve driven myself—the roads they drive on are roads I’ve been on, the bridges are real, the motels and inns are real, the boats are real, the restaurants are real. One of the best five days of my life. (I found the Bill Cipher statue!)

Also, I make several references in here to song lyrics by a band called _Jukebox the Ghost._ I have seen them live, and they are fantastic. A very happy piano-pop trio, and I strongly recommend that you check them out. If you would like to listen to the songs that I mention, their titles are _Fred Astaire, Colorful, Diane,_ and _Simple as 1-2-3._ In that order. You don’t have to listen to them, but they may add a bit more texture to what goes on. And they’re also just good songs.

Other than that, I encourage you to keep reading! Questions or comments are always encouraged—I look forward to hearing what you all have to say.


	2. Valley

“Remind me why, again, we have to drive all the way out to the coast instead of just taking Interstate 5?” said Pacifica, leaning lazily against the window. Her seatbelt was cutting into her shoulder, leaving a thin red line behind—she took a moment to readjust it before pressing her forehead back against the glass. She closed her eyes as she felt the vibrations of the road shake into her cheeks. It would have been disturbing if she was trying to sleep, but it actually served as a decent low-budget massage.

The trees rolled by endlessly outside, a green wave that stretched over the hills until it finally broke against the rocky crags of the snow-capped Cascades, still topped with white even in the midst of summer. Not that she could see the mountains, of course, given that they were currently driving through a valley next to a river. The road itself was stained black with rain, and the scent of petrichor made the world seem fresh and new.

“Because,” said Dipper, rolling his eyes slightly, “it’s a much more scenic drive than the interstate. If I had to choose between the rugged Oregon Coast and a soulless strip of pavement, I’d take the longer route every time. Plus, I wanted to see how it was to drive this cool new truck for more than a couple hours in a row.”

“I don’t know if the truck is that cool,” mumbled Pacifica to herself, straightening up in her seat. “I mean, I’ve got a Tesla in my garage.”

“Two things,” said Dipper, holding up two fingers before dropping his hand to rest on the gear stick. Pacifica’s eyes followed his hand before she caught herself and refocused on the scenery outside. Dipper moved his hand back to the wheel almost instinctively.

“First, this old used truck does things your car could never do. We’ve got four-wheel drive, two spare tires, a toolbox filled with all the tech that Ford was willing to loan me, a reserve gas tank, emergency radio, and… cupholders,” he boasted before dramatically gesturing to the center console, where two cupholders sat. One was filled with used napkins and a few spare glinting coins at the bottom, while the other had a clear plastic water bottle in it that desperately needed to be washed.

“And apparently an endless reserve of stale fries,” retorted Pacifica, slipping her fingers into the space between the center console and her seat to fish out a pale yellow string that was beginning to go green. She crinkled her nose and covered her mouth as she rolled down her window and tossed it outside. Looking in the side mirror, she could already see two crows fighting over it. _Gross,_ she thought to herself.

“I blame Mabel for that,” said Dipper, looking apologetic. “I try to keep it clean, but there’s only so much I can do. It’s a miracle I was able to get the rainbow colored coffee stain out of that seat.”

“Since when does Mabel drink coffee?” asked Pacifica, wondering what genius decided to introduce her to the wonders of caffeine.

“Our parents, actually,” sighed Dipper. “They were trying to wean her off of sugar, but big surprise, she just combined the two into a saccharine chocolate fueled nightmare. It’s Mabel Juice 2.0, with just a hint of coffee.” Pacifica sighed and leaned back into her seat. She glanced over at Dipper and parted her lips to speak, but Dipper jumped in his seat before she was able to, startling her.

“Wait!” he said, raising his voice and looking at Pacifica accusingly. She was frightened for a moment, but a quick glance at the twinkle in his eye revealed that this was all in good fun. She relaxed. “There were two things I was going to say, and you distracted me!”

“It wasn’t intentional,” said Pacifica, turning her nose up at Dipper slightly and closing her eyes. “It’s not my fault I’m so naturally enthralling.”

“Well…” stuttered Dipper, not knowing how to respond. Pacifica cracked open her eyes ever so slightly, just enough to see the blush in his cheeks as his eyes glanced up and down her figure, from her new leather boots to the messy braid that she had lashed her hair into for the car ride. She wasn’t wearing anything fancy—a fur lined jacket combined with a pale blue buttoned blouse and white pants.

Dipper soon realized what he was doing and refocused, staring at the road ahead with a laser-like intensity. Since he wasn’t looking at Pacifica, Pacifica took the opportunity to look at him.

The last three years had treated him well. He was much taller now, about six feet, though he looked to still be growing. He hadn’t entirely left behind the acne of his early teens, but it was mostly concentrated around his forehead—covered by a crashing wave of milk-chocolate hair that looked like it would be very, very soft. He mostly covered it with a ball cap, though—the ushanka that Wendy had given him years ago had started to become threadbare, so it was retired to a place of honor on his bedpost.

 _Maybe I need to get a ushanka,_ thought Pacifica to herself.

Not every one of Dipper’s changes was positive, though. He had traded in his shorts for jeans, which he wore in all but the hottest of weather. Pacifica suspected he was ashamed of his legs for some reason—though in her opinion, they looked fine. Not that she had paid that much attention to them when she ran into him at the Gravity Falls Public Pool last year. She supposed that the scars left behind by Weirdmageddon may have been off-putting, but everyone in town knew what had happened. They had lived it.

Dipper was also wearing a light green jacket—a nylon shell lined with sheep’s fleece. He was less stingy about keeping it on all the time, but he did bring it on this trip. He loved the inside pockets that it had, able to hold his cell phone, a small notebook that he used to jot down observations and ideas while chewing on the cap of his pen, and a silver doohickey that Pacifica didn’t know the use of. He still kept his journal, of course—he just waited until he was at home to fill it out and was able to pay close attention to the detail of his work.

The reason he had the jacket on now had to do with the recency of the rain—the air was still cool, and Dipper had his window rolled all the way down, left elbow hanging out into the wind. He sat comfortably, leaned against the side of the car and steering lazily with his right hand. Pacifica wished he would close the window since the humidity was messing with her hair, but she enjoyed watching him like that. She hadn’t paid that much attention to her hair this morning anyway—she had overslept, and there had been a mad dash for her to get her luggage together before her ride got to the Manor.

“Anyway,” Dipped coughed, clearing both his throat and the air with the same sound. Pacifica opened her eyes again. “What I was going to ask was why you have a Tesla? I mean, I know your family isn’t poor, and have built back up over the last three years, but Teslas aren’t cheap. And there aren’t many charging stations around here either.”

“We had a charging station installed in our garage. Plus, if I’m being honest, I lost my interest in ponies after the incident with the last one. And ponies aren’t cheap, so all the stabling costs for poor Maggie just got shunted into my car budget. I turned sixteen like five months ago, and I wasn’t going to be able to survive without a car.”

“What incident with the last pony?” said Dipped, cocking his head to the side. She could see the wheels in his mind already turning, only stopping briefly for him to check a road sign as they passed by.


	3. Respond

Pacifica cringed inwardly. She knew that she shouldn’t have mentioned what had happened to Maggie. Dipper had a tendency to overfocus on things that he couldn’t really understand or control, and that would put a major damper on what was supposed to be a fun weekend. He was already reaching into his jacket and fumbling for his notebook.

But Pacifica also knew that it would be even worse if she didn’t tell him—there was nothing Dipper hated more than knowing that there was something he didn’t know. Two summers ago, she had made the mistake of telling him that she had something that she needed to show him the next day. His birthday was coming up, and she wanted to give him something private, away from the public party.

She had gone to bed, happy that she had arranged the surprise so flawlessly—her present was a state of the art GPS button that Dipper could attach to his physical journal and then pair with his phone, so he could always track its location. After the trauma of seeing Bill burn the journals, Dipper kept five separate copies, which he updated weekly—one in a private cloud server, one on his computer, one on a flash drive that he had hidden in a crevice in his ceiling, a photocopied binder of the pages in a fireproof box, and then the actual physical one in his desk. He had plenty of backups, but he loved the physical one the most.

Pacifica just couldn’t hold it in any longer—she sent him a text saying that she had a surprise for him. What she hadn’t expected was for Dipper to show up at her front door three hours after she had gone to bed, covered in mud with a stick coming out of his hair, and pouring sweat from both walking up the hill to McGucket Manor and his anxiously racing heart. It was the only time she wished her parents had turned down McGucket’s offer to rent back a single wing of their old manor in favor of getting a house in town—just because then Dipper wouldn’t have had to walk as far.

She still remembered the night vividly—Dipper standing in their front doorway in the darkness, flashlight hanging from a strap around his wrist and the glint of a silver mirror in his pocket. It was two in the morning, and the night was pitch black, punctuated only by the sounds of hooting owls and the gentle patter of misty drizzle on the leaves of the trees. The only light poured out from the open door. He shamefully rubbed his arms as he looked at the stunned Pacifica with bloodshot eyes, sorry that he had shown up unannounced—but he had to ask what the surprise was. It wasn’t the kind of thing people freaked out about like this, he knew, but he simply had to know. The fact that Preston was the one who had opened the door and was looking down at him with scorn, wondering what this street trash wanted to do with his daughter so late at night certainly didn’t help matters.

“I’m sorry…” Dipper had mumbled. “But I’ve got to know—what’s the surprise? My head’s been buzzing nonstop ever since you told me—is it is bad news, is it good news? Has the ghost come back? Do I need to try and help? Can I try and help? Is it Bill? Is it…” Dipper paused before finishing the sentence, glancing up at Preston, who continued to watch in silence.

“It’s a GPS tracker for your journal,” Pacifica had said, quietly, her eyes searching Dipper up and down.

“Oh,” said Dipped, visibly relaxing. No sooner had the adrenaline faded from his system, though, then the blood rushed from his face and his tiredness caught up with him. He looked to be on the verge of collapse, but knew he still had to walk back down the hill. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.” His eyes seemed happier, and he halfheartedly raised his arms for a hug before reassessing the situation—between Preston, his unexpected arrival, and his disheveled appearance, he opted to drop his arms. “I’ll be back sometime tomorrow,” he said, before turning and heading off into the night.

“Wait!” cried Pacifica after him, causing Preston to jolt slightly before regaining his composure. “It’s a long walk in the dark, and you don’t look too good. Do you want to stay here for the night?” Her heart was pounding as she looked up at her father. Seeing his scowl, she quickly added, “I’m sure McGucket has a spare room in his part of the manor.” Preston did not relax.

“Thanks, but I didn’t exactly tell Mabel or anyone that I was leaving. If they wake up and I’m gone without a note or anything, they’ll freak out,” said Dipper, smiling sadly before continuing to walk away.

“At least let us drive you back!” added Pacifica, causing Dipper to pause again. He was turning around to respond when Preston slammed the door.

“Pacifica Northwest!” he said angrily, glowering at her. “You’re in enough trouble as it is, having this scoundrel show up at this hour. You’re not going to drag me or your mother into this when we have to be at the airport at 6:30 AM.”

“Come on, Da—father,” said Pacifica, stumbling over her words. “He helped save us from the Corduroy ghost. We owe him this much.”

“No, he didn’t save us from the ghost,” said Preston, gesturing at the gates on the other side of the property through a window. “The gates were opened, which we could have done to solve the problem at any time. Plus, he was paid his fair share with those tickets for his sister and her… friends? Are they people? Are her friends people?”

“This is ridiculous,” said Pacifica in exasperation.

“Not another word out of you,” said Preston, gesturing to the staircase. “You are to return to bed this instant. And I don’t want this boy showing up tomorrow either—I’ll tell the butlers to keep an eye out for him and to call the police if he shows up.”

“’Butlers’,” sneered Pacifica, using her fingers to draw air quotes. “It’s a chef who shows up for an hour in the morning to do meal prep, a housekeeper who comes every three days, and a single butler for dinner. It’s not exactly an army.”

“But they are all scheduled for tomorrow,” said Preston, reaching into his pocket and gently running his fingers around the rim of a brass bell. Pacifica flinched instinctively, knowing what he was reaching for. “Now go to bed.”

Pacifica silently turned around and headed back up the stairs. She turned around when she heard Preston open the door. “I’m sorry…” he began, before trailing off. Pacifica could see through the door that Dipper was no longer there—he must have headed back into the forest once the door had closed.

Back in her room, she picked up her phone, protected in a slim pink case, to check her notifications. Six missed calls and thirty four unanswered messages. She swiped her finger across the screen with trepidation, and began to scroll through them. There was only one voicemail—it was Dipper’s voice in a whisper, trying not to wake Mabel as he spoke in their shared bedroom.

“Pacifica,” he said, his voice already shaking. “It everything okay? What’s going on? Do you need help? Just… please, call me back as soon as you can.” It clicked off. He hadn’t left a voicemail on the other ones.

The first message was the longest. “What’s going on? Is everything okay? Let me know.”

The second— “I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I’m just worried.”

The third— “Why am I this anxious about this?”

The fourth— “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

The fifth— “Right?”

Pacifica could feel tears welling up in her eyes as she continued scrolling. She stifled her breath as she heard Preston’s footsteps pass by her door as he returned to bed—they paused briefly, before continuing on. She let out a ragged sob as she read the remaining messages.

“Please respond.”

“Please respond.”

“Please respond.”

“Please respond.”

“Please respond,” over and over again, until the last one, which was simply—

“Please.”


	4. Impressions

“Pacifica, are you still with me?” said Dipper, looking over at her before poking her in the thigh with his pen. She shook her head and blinked as she tried to refocus on her surroundings.

The truck was still going down the road, the trees were still flying by, and the scent of the rain, now mingled with salt, was still in the air. She was here with Dipper.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, shifting in her seat. “Zoned out for a bit. What was the question again?”

“What happened to your pony?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Pacifica, grimacing. She needed to tell him sooner than later. “I didn’t see it myself, thankfully. We got a call from our stable letting us know that something had happened. Mom and Dad headed down there and left me with McGucket. About an hour later, McGucket got a call from them saying that they needed him to come down as quickly as possible.”

“If they needed McGucket, it must have been urgent,” said Dipper, jotting down a timeline of events on the lined notepad. He was steering with his knees, glancing back and forth from his paper to the road.

“I think they would have called Ford if he and Stan had been in town. Maybe even you,” said Pacifica, as Dipper puffed up with pride and a small grin teased the corners of his lips. Pacifica rolled her eyes—he had tried to suppress his happiness at the compliment, but was really bad at it. “Anyway, McGucket went into this closet and came out with what looked like a flamethrower, but instead of gasoline there was a tank of this purple liquid on the top of it.”

“Sounds like alien adhesive,” said Dipper, glancing back at the road and dropping his pen as he jerked to readjust the wheel before they ran off the pavement and into a ditch.

“Eyes on the road,” said Pacifica, as she quickly grabbed the pen before it slipped down in between the crack in the seats and handed it back to Dipper. There was a smudge of blue ink on her hands, which she rubbed discretely on the fabric of her chair.

“I think that’s what it was, because he was being super careful with it,” said Pacifica. “He didn’t say anything as he headed out and left me there alone. I had his room full of robots all to myself. I should have messed around with them and tried to figure them out, but I just sat there and waited. Still regret that.”

“Probably for the best,” replied Dipper. “His stuff is so dangerous that it’s a miracle they work at all.”

“After two hours, though, he got back, and I asked him what had happened,” continued Pacifica, glancing sideways at her driver. “That’s when I learned that McGucket has no sense of what it is appropriate to tell a fourteen year old, because he told me that—”

“Wait,” said Dipper, holding up a hand. “I want you to tell me this next part in your best McGucket impression.”

“You just want to make me look like an idiot,” grinned Pacifica.

“Noooo…” said Dipper, slowly smiling. “It will really help put me in the headspace for visualizing this. Plus, McGucket’s anything but an idiot.”

“I’ll do it for you,” said Pacifica, “just don’t tell anybody.” She cleared her throat and pulled her hair around her to resemble a beard. She closed one eye and tried to imagine what it would be like without some of her perfect teeth.

“Well, I reckon it was some sort of inter-die-mensional Chupacabra!” she began as Dipper immediately tried to stifle a laugh. “Poor Maggie had all the blood sucked out of her, eyeballs and tongue plucked plumb out, her bones were jelly, and genitalia were nowhere to be found!”

“Jesus,” said Dipper, as his laughter turned to horror.

“Lucky that the stable guy beat the thing back into the rift with a broom! He said it had tent-akles and seven eyes! That’s how many he counted at least! He looked a little roughed up, but he was still in his own mind. I tossed Maggie through the rift so we wouldn’t have to bury her, and then I heard a mighty loud screech and a screaming from the other side—so I pulled out the old glue gun and sealed the thing back in its dimension where it belongs!”

Pacifica coughed as she returned to her normal voice, dropping her hair. She spat out a few loose strands that had gotten caught in her lips as she brought her story to a close.

“So yeah, basically my pony got brutally murdered and dissected,” she ended.

“It’s probably good that you didn’t see it, then,” said Dipper. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything that bad. Usually by the time I get to an incident site, there’s not that much left of anybody.”

“Do people usually get killed like that?” asked Pacifica, curiously. “And why does this happen to begin with?”

“No, usually it’s pretty benign,” said Dipper as he folded his notebook back and tucked it into his jacket. Pacifica was slightly relieved when he put his hand back on the wheel. “Most of those rifts can’t let anything bigger than a rabbit through, and most of the other dimensions aren’t super dangerous even if the rift is bigger. You just got super unlucky.”

“But as for why it happened… Gravity Falls has always been a very weird place—it’s easier to step between dimensions there than anywhere else on earth. But when Weirdmageddon happened, there was such a release of energy that the border between dimensions got even thinner, so there were a bunch of places where big rifts like that can happen in the valley,” finished Dipper, gesturing with his hands.

“It’s entirely contained to Gravity Falls, though?” said Pacifica, worried what may happen to other places if a rift opened without a Dipper, Ford, or McGucket to close it.

“I wish I could tell you yes,” said Dipper, “but I honestly can’t. There are lots of other places where it could happen and has happened—that’s why Stan and Ford are out there on the ocean, tracking down all of them that they possibly can. For the most part, though, the rifts have either occurred within Gravity Falls, or outside of the Pacific Northwest. Not you, the actual region.”

“Why is that?” asked Pacifica, a little confused.

“We don’t really know yet,” said Dipper, becoming visually more excited at being able to talk about something he was passionate about. “Our working theory is that Gravity Falls’ weirdness magnetism is so naturally powerful that it’s pulling all of the nearby anomalous events into itself. It’s like a funnel—normally we’re right at the center of it, but now we’re on the sides.”

“That makes some kind of sense,” said Pacifica, thoughtfully. “What’s the outer bound of the Gravity Falls funnel?”

“We call it the Gravity Well, just because it sounds cooler. But the nearest event we know of outside of the Northwest was down in San Francisco.”

“How big was it? There are so many people there that it’d be super dangerous,” worried Pacifica.

“It was actually one of the most benign ones that we’ve ever encountered. I’m assuming you know about Alcatraz, and how no one was ever confirmed to have escaped from it?”

“Of course I know about Alcatraz. And I specifically know about the June 11th, 1962 escape attempt of Frank Morris and brothers John and Clarence Anglin,” said Pacifica, glancing at her nails with a smirk before looking at Dipper, who’s mouth was slightly agape.

“I didn’t know that you knew so much about prison breaks,” said Dipper, grinning at her.

“Well, when you live in a fortress surrounded by guards, butlers, and parents, it’s good to have role models to look up to,” she said with a slight frown. “But yes, I know about Alcatraz." After a slight pause, Dipper continued.

“So, Morris and the Anglins, they tried to escape on a raft made of raincoats. But they were never found, and it was assumed that they drowned. But last year, people in the Bay Area reported a flash of blue light, and then three guys were picked up by a Coast Guard boat on a rubber raft.”

“There’s no way it was them!” gasped Pacifica, smiling.

“It was!” said Dipper, lightly slapping the steering wheel. “I mean, the police never went public with it because they couldn’t explain it, but since I live in Piedmont, I was close enough to get to them before they were disappeared. They still thought it was 1962—for them, it was like they had been gone for twelve seconds. The working theory is that they got sucked into a rift and spent those years in some kind of dimension with greatly decelerated time. It wasn’t the nightmare dimension, though, because they were still sane when they came out—they were just really confused.”

“Do you think they went back to prison?” asked Pacifica.

“I don’t know,” answered Dipper, glancing over at her before looking forward with a shine in his eyes. “If they had shown up as old men, probably, because that could have been explained. But the fact that they were young really threw a wrench in the government’s plans. But I don’t know what all the government’s capable of or willing to do, so I won’t predict anything.

“More importantly, though, we’re here,” said Dipper, gesturing forward to the horizon.


	5. Highway 101

As Dipper turned right and began heading north up the coast, Pacifica looked past his chin to drink in the view.

Highway 101 runs along a massive, untamed stretch of Oregon coast, falling to cold, coarse sandy beaches, and rising to crests of massive rocks, frigid water pounding the cliffs with powerful waves that send spray high into the air. They had joined the route at a high point, and Pacifica was practically leaning over Dipper to look down over the water.

“Wow…” she said, quietly. “You miss so much when you just fly everywhere.”

“Exactly,” said Dipper, smirking as he gently pulled the truck around a curve. “Beats the interstate too, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” said Pacifica, lightly punching Dipper in the arm. “Do people even live out here, though?”

“They do. It’s mostly small towns with economies based on tourism, logging, and fishing. The houses aren’t particularly majestic either, just because of how much damage the salt wind does to things over time.”

“Seems like more of a reason to make something majestic to me,” said Pacifica. “It’d last longer.”

“If you could get a cement truck out here on these tiny roads, sure,” said Dipper. “Still, people are generally pretty local here. No commercial stuff.”

“So no Panera Bread then?” asked Pacifica, as a light rumble filled the cabin of the truck, causing Dipper to chuckle. Pacifica sat back and crossed her arms.

“Don’t worry, I’m hungry too. We’ll stop for lunch soon. If I recall the map correctly, there’s a small town a few miles north of here closer to the water.”

Pacifica opened the glove box and pulled out a paper map. She was shocked that Dipper still used something so… analog, but he was right when he said that cell service wasn’t great on the coast. It had given her an excuse to talk to him, at least, even if she was slightly itching to check her Instagram.

As she unfolded the map to its full size, taking up most of the windshield, she found the bright red line that Dipper had used to trace their route before they left. Checking a road sign, she was quickly able to figure out where they were and folded the map back down so that only their current panel was visible.

“Looks like the next town is called… Ya-chats?” said Pacifica, questioning the pronunciation of the strange word as she said it. “About fifteen miles, it looks like.”

“Not far at all,” said Dipper as his and Pacifica’s stomachs growled at the same time. They both made eye contact and smiled, sharing in the ridiculousness. Pacifica followed it up with a yawn, as she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

“I’m still mad that you made me get up so early to leave,” she said beratingly. “Once we stop, I’m going to need to get some coffee too.”

“DID SOMEONE SAY COFFEE!??!!!” screamed Mabel, jolting up in an instant from where she was laying in the backseat of the truck into a sitting position, only to have the seatbelt lock into place and pull her back down, causing her to choke and cough.

“JESUS!!” shouted Pacifica as she leapt out of her seat, startled to have the sleeping girl wake up so suddenly, and so loudly. Dipper was used to her antics, though, so he only reacted with a slight jolt and a tiny whispered curse. “Could you be any more terrifying?” berated Pacifica.

“Oh, I’m sure I could,” said Mabel as she unbuckled her seatbelt and sat up in the middle of the backseat. Dipper sighed, since it slightly obstructed his view in the rearview mirror. Still, as much of an alpha twin as Mabel was, she wasn’t tall enough to pose much of a problem. “Like this, for instance!”

Mabel proceeded to loudly burp, sending the scent of day old Mabel Juice 2.0 into the front seat and causing Pacifica to panic as she rushed to lower her window and get a breath of fresh air. Dipper just leaned out a bit.

“That’s disgusting Mabel,” Dipper chastised once the smell had dissipated.

“Pacifica wondered if I could be more terrifying,” said Mabel with a pout. “I was just helping her out.”

“I said terrifying, not disgusting,” said Pacifica, grumbling. “And I also didn’t ask for a demonstration. Remember that this whole trip is your birthday present, so try not to ruin it already.”

“Dipper ruined it when he made me get up at 5 AM to come and pick you up. Hence why I’ve been taking a lovely nap for the last four hours.”

“We needed to leave early to get there on schedule. With some time built in for delays and other shenanigans, of course,” said Dipper, justifying himself. “And on behalf of Mabel, Pacifica, allow me to say thank you for her present. I’m sure that we’re all really going to enjoy it.”

“We’d better,” said Pacifica. “These tickets weren’t cheap. They were sold out in Portland, and these were the last ones left for Seattle. It surprises me that they were so much—I’ve never heard of these guys before.”

“They’re kind of small,” said Mabel, yawning. “But they’re also really cute.”

“Wait,” Pacifica said, turning to Dipper. “They’re not another Sev’ral Timez, are they?”

“Nah,” said Mabel, reaching into her navy blue sweater and pulling out a poster. The sweater was fluffy and made entirely of wool, with a hand sewn image of a cat on the front. The back of the cat was also on the back of the sweater—complete with raised tail and exposed butthole, but her hair usually covered that. “They all look a little different at least,” she said as she handed the poster to Pacifica, riding shotgun.

“Jukebox the Ghost,” read Pacifica. She knew the name, of course, since she had been the one to buy the tickets for the trio, but she hadn’t seen the band or listened to any of their songs. She just knew Mabel liked them. “The lead guy is hot.”

“They’re all hot!” said Mabel, practically shouting. Thankfully the windows were still rolled down, so the sound was able to get out of the car. “The happy blonde guitar guy, the happy emo drummer, the happy piano dude—they’re just so happy! I can’t believe you haven’t heard any of their songs before.”

“The stuff I listen to is either mainstream, or ‘for my personal edification,’” said Pacifica, putting on a snobbery accent at the end. “I’ll listen to them if you’ve got them on your phone. I’m up for new things.”

“Oh, girl, I’ve got something better than a phone!” said Mabel as she reached into her sweater and pulled out a CD case.

“A CD? People don’t seriously still use these, do they?” said Pacifica in disbelief as Mabel handed her the disk and Pacifica searched for the player. “My car doesn’t even have a CD player.”

“This one does,” said Dipper as he took the disc from Pacifica and slid it into the slot. As the machinery started to whir and the first strains of the first track started to blast out—something with a very quick guitar—Dipper pressed the off button.

“What was that for?” asked Mabel in disbelief.

“Nothing personal,” replied Dipper, shrugging. “We’re just about to stop for lunch.”

“Okay, lunch wins,” said Mabel, leaning back in the seat and rubbing her stomach. “Where are we stopping?”

“A town called Yachats,” said Dipper, pointing forward. Ahead, a tiny settlement could barely be seen. The road ahead dipped down from the tops of the cliffs they were currently on to the main street, which ran alongside the water. “No restaurant in particular. I figured we’d wander around and find something.”

“You didn’t even check Yelp before we came out here?” asked Pacifica incredulously.

“Nope,” grinned Dipper as he slowed down as the traffic increased. “That’s all part of the adventure.”

The houses were all wood, and most all of them bore some kind of damage from the repeated storms that had blown in off the coast. Some of them had a fresh coat of white paint, which served as both protection and damage control. The main street of the town looked like it had been freshly paved, though, and the bushes around it were impeccably trimmed. To the left, the roaring of the ocean could easily be heard.

“There’s a parking space!” shouted Mabel, pointing it out and leaning into the front seat.

“It’s on the wrong side of the road, Mabel,” Dipper sighed as he continued on.

“But it’s so convenient!” she said, whiningly.

“We’ll find something else up ahead,” said Dipper. No sooner had he said this, though, than the town of Yachats ended and they found themselves back out on the coastal highway. “Or,” said Dipper as he steered onto a side road and turned around, “we will go park there.”

“Yes,” whispered Mabel to herself. Pacifica rolled her eyes. She didn’t understand Mabel’s enthusiasm for such little things, but she couldn’t deny that it brought a special light to the everyday. Dipper stretched his arm, placing his hand on the back of Pacifica’s seat as he backed the truck into the space.

As Dipper turned the truck off, Mabel hopped out and leapt into the air, stretching in a way that seemed to crack her knuckles, spine, and neck all at once. Pacifica cringed at the sound as she got out more gracefully, taking care not to put her new boots in the waterlogged mulch before stepping over to the sidewalk. Dipper locked the truck with a beep and joined them—Dipper walking next to Pacifica on the concrete as Mabel raced ahead and assessed all the different shops on the main street.

“How was my driving?” asked Dipper, glancing at Pacifica.

“Not bad,” she said, shrugging and grinning to herself. “Not as good as mine, of course, but then again, electric vehicles are so much more efficient than gasoline ones. There’s only so much you can do.”

“Well, you know who to call when your car runs out of battery on the interstate,” said Dipper, lightly bumping into Pacifica and sending a thrill through her chest.

“I think you’ve made your case against the interstate,” said Pacifica, after a lengthy pause. “I may be on the backroads more often now.” A quick dart of her eyes revealed Dipper to be smiling.

“Guys! I found the place for us!” shouted Mabel, waving them down before striking a pose and pointing at the sign.

“Luna Sea… Fish House,” said Pacifica, disappointed. “Fish House? Really? That’s the best they could come up with?”

“It’s a house of fish!” defended Mabel. “Plus, look at that pun! Are you really not going to eat at a place with a pun like that?”

“I don’t choose restaurants based on wordplay,” sneered Pacifica.

“I like it,” said Dipper, pulling open the door as Mabel walked in. “Besides, Pacifica,” he said, pointing to a tiny slip of printer paper that had been taped to the glass, “it seems they’ve got pretty good reviews.”

“4.3 stars on Yelp,” said Pacifica, leaning in to look at the faded sheet. “And… five stars from the Gravity Falls Gossiper?”

“Huh,” said Dipper as Pacifica walked past him. “I didn’t know Toby could make it past the weirdness barrier.”

“Three please!” said Mabel, holding up three fingers to the man behind the counter.

“Dine in or take out?” he replied, in a voice that was so deep and resonant that Mabel dropped her hand and forgot what she was doing.

“Uhh…” she drooled, with stars in her eyes.

“Dine in,” said Pacifica, saving Mabel and steering her away from the register.

“Alright—we’ve got three rooms to choose from. There’s this main one, an outside one with fireplaces, and then another one next to the water. Go take your pick, and I’ll be with you shortly,” he said, gesturing towards a door that led further back into the restaurant.

“The weather’s nice,” said Dipper, taking the lead. “And we’ve been in the car all day. Let’s eat outside.”

“So long as there aren’t any bugs,” Pacifica answered. As Mabel was pushed, she eventually came to her senses and regained control of her limbs.

“Who was that?” said Mabel, swooning. “It’s like his voice is an earthquake.”

“I don’t know his name,” said Pacifica as she ushered Mabel to her seat. The outdoor dining area was made up of picnic tables lined against the walls of a shelter constructed out of wood. Two long fire pits ran the length of the shelter, and someone had gone through and painted the walls with absolutely beautiful designs featuring the ocean—orcas and salmon on one wall, humpback whales and tropical fish and flowers on the other. Dipper was seated on a bench opposite Mabel, and was already scanning the menu. “You two look things over. I’m going to go the powder room and I’ll be right back.”

“This isn’t Greasy’s,” said Dipper, chuckling at her. “You don’t have to tell us what to do.”

“Force of habit,” said Pacifica as she turned and walked away with a flip of her hair.

Mabel tracked Pacifica with her eyes as she walked away, until she left the room. Then, instantly, she turned and pounced on Dipper.

“Alright, spill bro,” she said, stabbing her brother in the chest with a paper straw. “I was asleep for most of the morning, which means that you were in a car alone with Pacifica for like five hours. Which is plenty of time to have a deep and heartfelt conversation about your innermost feelings.” Dipper put his menu down with a sigh.

“Look, nothing happened,” he said. “We talked about a weird thing that happened to her last pony and why my new truck is better than her Tesla.”

“‘New’ truck is maybe an exaggeration,” said Mabel. “And it’s a Nissan. But that’s not what we’re trying to talk about here! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“GAH, I don’t know!” said Dipper, slamming his forehead on the table and grabbing his hair. “I know that I really should do something before my chance is gone, but I’m terrified. I mean, look at her—she’s the prettiest girl in existence and look at me! I’ve still got a traumatizing case of forehead acne.”

“It’s not about looks, Dip, it’s about feelings. And you two have got it bad. You’ve been through so much that all you need is the tiniest nudge. And you know that I’ll give you that nudge myself, so consider this your chance to show some gumption and do it yourself before I get involved!

“And also, forehead acne is usually stress related. So it will quite literally get better once you get this off your chest. The only thing you need to do is make a move before some rich and snobby kid does. You’re right when you say that she’s pretty. I mean, not as pretty as me,” said Mabel as she dramatically whisked her hair around, getting a mouthful of hair and having to spit it out. She slammed her fist on the table. “But she is still hot stuff, so your window’s closing, buddy.”

“But are you absolutely sure that she’s also into me? I was looking for signals the entire drive and I was picking up nothing!” begged Dipper, pleading for some advice.

“Question,” said Mabel, clasping her hands and pointing at Dipper. “What was the weirdest thing that she did?”

“Weirdest?” said Dipper, thinking back. “Well, it’s not the kind of weird that we’re used to, but she did use her hair as a beard and do a pretty good Old Man McGucket impression.”

“You’re golden!” shouted Mabel, lifting Dipper’s mopey face off of the red and white tablecloth by his cheeks.

“Sure, it was silly, but it wasn’t flirty,” said Dipper as he rubbed his face in an attempt to get the stickiness of Mabel’s fingers off.

“Think, bro,” said Mabel, tracing a rainbow in the air with her hands. “What do we know about Pacifica? She’s gotten better since Weirdmageddon, but she’s still prim and proper. There are expectations for her—and doing McGucket impressions are definitely _not_ part of those. If she was doing that around you, that means that she’s comfortable enough to let her guard down and be herself around you! And given what we know about Pacifica, that’s not a thing that happens lightly.”

“Wow,” said Dipper as he stared off into the distance. “I think you may be right.”

“Of course I’m right, Dip,” said Mabel as she leaned back. “I’m the master of matchmaking. I can read these things. I’m the best there is—and always cool under pressure.”

“Hello, my name is Hudson. What can I get for you today?” said the man who had greeted them at the door as he placed three glasses of water on the table. He had black hair that was tied back into a bun, and a perfectly trimmed beard. Teeth, impeccably white, radiated from between pale red lips. He was broad in the shoulders, and his voice still resonated with the same power it had before. He wore dark jeans and a black t-shirt, with an apron tied around his waist and a white dishcloth hanging from one of the pockets.

“I would like to get you…….r specials!” said Mabel, getting lost in his grey eyes before dragging herself back to the menu. Dipper rolled his eyes.

“Well, my personal recommendation would be the fish tacos,” he said, pointing at the menu and extending his arm over Mabel to point at them on the menu. Mabel was practically shaking. “A lot of places on the West Coast make their tacos too complicated. Here, it’s simple. Pure corn tortilla, locally caught fish that we season with our signature blend here—a little cheese, a little guac, some pico de gallo, and a lime wedge on the side. It’s delicious.”

“I’ll take it!” shouted Mabel, far too loudly. The only other people in the outdoor area, two older senior couples, looked over at her in curiosity.

“Two or three?” Hudson asked. Mabel’s mouth was already forming the word ‘four’ when Dipper interrupted.

“She’ll take three,” he said, handing his menu to Hudson. “And I’ll take three as well. And an extra plate.”

“I’m on it,” said Hudson, turning away and walking into the kitchen. Mabel’s eyes followed him the entire way. They met Pacifica’s as she returned from the restroom.

“Watch this,” said Mabel, leaning over to whisper to Dipper. “Here’s another test. See who she sits next to—me or you.”

“What are you two whispering about?” said Pacifica as she stretched her legs over the bench and sat down next to Dipper without a moment’s hesitation.

“Nothing,” said Dipper, choking out the word as Mabel sat with a glimmer in her eye.

“I don’t believe you, of course, but I’ll leave it. Have you ordered yet?” asked Pacifica.

“Yes!” said Dipper, eager to have something else to turn the conversation to. “We got six fish tacos total, so we’ll split them three ways. Save a little money that way.”

“Money isn’t an object you know,” said Pacifica incredulously. “I can pay.”

“You already got the tickets,” said Dipper, justifying himself. “It’s not fair that you pay for everything.”

“But you’re also the one driving. Gas will probably cost about as much as the tickets for as far as we’re going,” fired Pacifica.

“Let’s think, though—I’m handling gas, you’re handling the tickets—who does that leave for food?” Both Dipper and Pacifica looked at Mabel as she started pouring tiny pink packets of sugar into her water. She froze and looked up at them, wondering how she was going to handle this when she only had a few spare coins rattling around in her bag. Dipper was the one who traditionally handled the money whenever they went somewhere together—and Pacifica only added to the equation.

Thankfully, she was saved by the return of Hudson, who set down two plates loaded with tacos, and an empty one in front of Pacifica. Mabel was distracted enough by the food that she didn’t harass Hudson again. Dipper gently picked up two of the tacos between his thumb and index finger and transferred them to Pacifica’s plate, attempting to touch them as little as possible.

They ate in relative silence, the only accompaniment the crunch of the tacos, the roar of the surf, and the gentle murmur of the older couples at the other table. The tacos were just as good as Hudson had promised them to be, and it wasn’t long before they were ready to head back out onto the road. They had motel rooms booked for the night in Astoria, and wanted to get there as early as possible so they would be fresh for the next day.

Pacifica, employing some of her Northwest negotiation skills, was eventually able to convince Dipper to allow her to pay—these negotiations largely consisted of her snatching the bill away from Hudson before Dipper could get his hand out. Dipper grinned and rolled his eyes as he headed back out to the truck with Mabel in tow—before Mabel left, though, she scribbled down her phone number on the back of the receipt with a little doodle of a heart.

“Everything taste good?” asked Hudson as Pacifica approached the register.

“Quite good,” she said as she handed him a twenty dollar bill. She had thoughts, of course—it needed more citrus, perhaps some fermented cabbage, a pinch of saffron would have added a nice punch—but she had learned that it was a good idea to keep high society expectations away from places like this.

Pacifica then saw something that caused her to pause. There was a framed photo behind the counter in black and white, depicting a small, oddly shaped man sitting in front of a massive raw fish.

“Pardon me,” said Pacifica, as Hudson handed her the change, “but who is that?” She pointed at the photograph.

“He’s a legend,” said Hudson, taking the photo off the wall so she could get a closer look. “He came here before my time, but I think his name was Toby… Detrimental, or something. He went on a fishing trip and pulled up a whole yellowfin tuna, which is really impressive given that they don’t swim around here like… at all. He brought the thing here and proceeded to eat half of it raw. The other half he gave to the birds.”

“Huh. So it wasn’t like sushi or anything? Just straight raw fish,” asked Pacifica as she handed the photo back.

“Nope. Under US law, even sushi has to be frozen first. This thing was straight from the ocean,” said Hudson, shaking his head.

“The mystery deepens,” murmured Pacifica as she headed for the door. “Oh,” she added as she opened it, “you may also want to look at the back of that tab.” She walked out before she could see his reaction, but she definitely heard the rustle of paper.

She doubted anything would come of it, but she was happy that Mabel was so eager to take chances like that. She bounced from boy to boy. Pacifica wasn’t like that, and she reflected on that fact as she walked back to the truck.

Her relationship status was inconsistent at best. The only real boyfriend she ever had was a boy she had met during her freshman year of private high school. While they had been in Latin class, a conversation had started about Greek gods, which turned to Hercules, which turned to monsters, which turned to weirdness. Looking back at it now, Pacifica could see how much she really wanted to see Dipper in him, with how passionately the boy talked about finding and studying those creatures.

She had even taken the big step of bringing him home to her parents—but the second he and Preston started talking she felt that something was wrong. They hit it off too well—and it turned out that the only reason the kid wanted to find monsters was because of how much money they would make him. She had split things off with him by the time the parental visit was over.

Her years were divided into four seasons—the depressing spring and fall, and the exhilarating summer and winter breaks when she knew that Dipper would be in town for at least a couple of weeks. She had tried, over and over, to move past the friendship they had and into something else. She and Dipper actually did a lot of things that could be considered dates, but they never seemed to call them what they were. They were avoiding the truth about themselves without avoiding each other.

This summer was rapidly coming to a close—Dipper and Mabel would have to head back down to Piedmont as soon as this long weekend trip was over, and Pacifica would have to return to private school. That frightened her more than anything—it seemed that everyone around her was growing up, forming pairs and couples that would inevitably break, and she was scared that she’d get caught up in it. There were pressures on her from all sides, and it was only a matter of time before something cracked—she just hoped it wouldn’t be her.

She wondered more intensely than ever what Dipper and Mabel had been whispering about before she had returned to the table. She was extremely curious about it, but she knew that the twins had a connection that it would be rude to ask questions about, just by virtue of being twins. Dipper had been looking sad, then happy, then electrified, though—and she also knew that Mabel tended to play up her skills as matchmaker. She wondered if Mabel had something planned for her and Dipper—secretly hoping that she did.

For now, though, she was spending time with her friends on their way to a concert, and she was going to enjoy it. The problems of tomorrow could be dealt with tomorrow. The problems of today, however, could not be avoided—and one of those problems was that the truck wasn’t where she had left it.

She stood there, dumbfounded, for several moments. She looked left and right, making sure that this was the right place. She then took out her phone—there weren’t enough bars to even attempt to call Dipper. She could feel her temperature rising as anxiety over being stranded started to build up. If this was how Dipper felt whenever he started to worry about a surprise, she understood why he didn’t like it.

“Sorry!” she suddenly heard Dipper shout as the truck slowed to a halt in front of her. Both relief and anger flooded her system as she tucked her phone away before stepping out into the road and climbing into the cab.

“Way to just abandon me in a strange town in the middle of nowhere,” Pacifica scolded.

“It’s my fault,” said Mabel, as she handed Pacifica a cup. Looking at her, Pacifica could see a mustache made of whipped cream on her upper lip. “I thought we had time to go get coffee, but I forgot how long it takes to combine six espresso shots with a chocolate latte and a tub of plastic dinosaurs if you’re not used to it. Whenever I walk into my normal coffee shop, they start working on my usual right away. Even though I still have to bring my own dinosaurs.”

“All is forgiven if you got my order right,” said Pacifica as she cradled the cup in two hands and smelled it. The aroma of steaming milk and hot chocolate sent pleasant tingles up her nose.

“Raspberry cappuccino with extra whipped cream and a chocolate-caramel drizzle,” said Dipper instinctively. Pacifica smiled to herself as she took her first sip, and then rested back in her seat.

“All is forgiven then,” she said, contented. She opened her eyes briefly, just enough to look in the rearview mirror and see Dipper and Mabel exchanging a look. Mabel’s was undeniably one of ‘I told you so,’ while Dipper’s was more apologetic, and a little scared. She had never told Mabel her coffee order, so she knew that couldn’t be what they were discussing—Dipper was the one who had remembered it.

“What’s our next stop?” asked Dipper, jolting Pacifica out of her reverie. She had the map, and was responsible for navigation. She gently set her cup down in the cupholder—she noticed that the water bottle and napkins were now gone, as were the majority of the fries that had littered the floor. Someone cared what she thought, and she was certain it wasn’t Mabel.

“Let’s see…” said Pacifica, unfolding the map. “The next place you have circled here is Astoria. About a hundred and… seventy-ish miles. I don’t have a ruler. Or a phone, unfortunately.”

“A cool four hour drive. Not bad at all. And Astoria is our last stop of the day, so we can rest once we get there,” said Dipper as he settled back for the drive. The road was too curvy for cruise control, so he had to stay vigilant.

“I know it’s where we’re stopping,” said Pacifica, taking a sip of her cappuccino. “I’m the one who booked the hotel rooms.”

“Motel rooms,” corrected Mabel, leaning into the front seat. “Like we’re fancy enough for a hotel.”

“It’s a motel?” asked Pacifica in defeat. “It was just called an ‘inn’ on the website. Those are usually pretty nice.” 

“Inns are usually very nice or not nice at all,” said Dipper. “It might be more towards the latter, but it’s safe. I wouldn’t take you there if it wasn’t.” Pacifica smiled into her coffee.

“Remind me again why we couldn’t stay in Portland,” said Pacifica, straightening her face. “If money was a concern, we probably could have crashed at Melody’s place for a night. And we’d be in Portland.”

“Portland sucks!” shouted Mabel, making her opinions widely known.

“Why? It’s not the cleanest place in the world, and there’s a lot of concrete, but it’s not bad. The Japanese Garden is magical,” said Pacifica.

“She’s mad because when we went with Soos to visit Melody’s family last year, she got an ice cream cone from a vendor who only piled up the ice cream on top of the cone, and didn’t actually put any inside,” said Dipper.

“The combination of cream and cone is the best part!” Mabel argued. “And since he sucks, all of Portland sucks. But you know what doesn’t suck?”

“What?” asked Dipper and Pacifica in unison.

“My mixtape!” said Mabel as she lunged forwards and pressed play, causing the music to pick up where it had left off before lunch. The guitar started to pulse and create momentum as Mabel swayed in the backseat. Dipper was bobbing his head from side to side, and even Pacifica started to tap her foot as the music picked up.


	6. Conference

_“Those eyes, darn those eyes, they get me every time… those eyes, in those eyes, I can do no crime! When I dance like I don’t care, you call me Fred Astaire!”_ crooned Mabel, drowning out the actual lyrics. Pacifica assumed that she was right. She didn’t particularly enjoy Mabel’s singing, off-key as it was, but the actual lead singer of the band managed to complement her slightly—if he hadn’t, the past two hours would have been unbearable.

Suddenly, an alarm blared through the cab of the truck, causing Pacifica to shriek and cover her ears with the backs of her hands. The music automatically shut off as Mabel joined Pacifica in screaming, causing the scent of espresso and sugar to erupt over the car as she dropped her Mabel Juice 2.0 to the floor. Dipper slammed on the brakes and veered over to the side of the road, the scent of rubber surrounding them along with the cloud of smoke and dust churned up by their sudden stop.

“Damn!” said Dipper to himself as he flung open his jacket and pulled out the silver device that Pacifica had noticed earlier. It was astonishing that a thing so small could produce a noise so loud, but Dipper fumbled for the switch and turned it off as quickly as he could. “Sorry,” he said as he started tapping at the buttons. Pacifica removed her hands from her ears and glared at him with fury. She gently set her coffee into the cupholder before speaking—she had gotten lucky by not dropping it due to the shock, and she wasn’t about to lose it now.

“Dipper,” she said, calmly. “What the hell was that!??!!” she added, bellowing. Dipper winced. Pacifica didn’t regret it.

“I’m sorry,” he echoed. “I didn’t think this would happen. Otherwise I would have turned it down.”

“Why did you even have it so loud to begin with?” asked Mabel. She clearly knew what this thing was, but Pacifica had no idea.

“I had it turned up in case a call came through at night and I needed to respond to it. I didn’t think I’d get a signal out here. Why am I getting a signal out here anyway…?” he asked himself as he crouched over the device. Pacifica looked down and saw that Dipper still had his foot firmly pressed on the brake. The truck was still in drive, so she shifted it into park just in case Dipper forgot that he was the only thing holding them in place.

“Mabel,” said Pacifica, turning to her. Mabel had produced some wipes from the interior of her sweater and was lying face down on the seats, attempting to soak up what she had spilled before it permanently stained the carpet. The scent was going to linger for a while—there was nothing to be done about that. “Do you mind telling me what exactly this thing is that your dipstick of a brother almost managed to kill us with?”

“Oh!” said Mabel, perking up, eager to have something to distract from cleaning. “Its real name is something very long and complicated…”

“The Weirdness Emission Spectrometer and Local Environmental Eye,” said Dipper, not looking up from the screen.

“We all call it Weslee. Dipper tells me that they weren’t thinking of the acronym when they named it, but I don’t believe him at all,” said Mabel, returning to her task.

“So that’s what it’s named, but what does it do?” asked Pacifica. She tried to bend over to help Mabel clean up, but the spill was just out her reach—though perhaps she could have reached further if she had really tried.

“What does _Weslee_ do, Pacifica,” corrected Mabel. “We have to be nice to him.”

“Fine. What does Weslee do?” asked Pacifica, rolling her eyes.

“Weslee is essentially a GPS for weird stuff. There are only three units like it—Dipper has number III, and McGucket and Ford have Weslee II and I. They monitor the normal levels of weirdness in an environment, and go nuts whenever there’s a spike big enough to create and sustain a dimensional rift. They also work as satellite phones that are connected only to each other, so you can talk to anyone else who has one at basically all times.” Mabel cocked her head. “I think that’s right, at least. That’s what Ford told me when he said that I couldn’t have one.”

“Okay, so why did this one go off now?” asked Pacifica, focusing back on Dipper. She had her legs pulled up onto the seat with her, and was leaning over to look at the device.

“No, Pacifica,” said Dipper. “Why did _Weslee_ go off now?” he added with a smirk.

“I put up with this from Mabel. Not from you,” she said sternly. Dipper swallowed before answering.

“Well, it seems to be reporting a spike in weirdness energy from somewhere about twenty miles to our northeast. Which is really, really confusing, given everything I said about the Gravity Well earlier. It shouldn’t be here. We’ve never seen one here before.”

“Is there any chance that it’ll close on its own?” asked Pacifica, already seeing the wheels turning in Dipper’s head. There was no way they were going to be able to continue their journey without investigating it, unless some other satisfactory explanation could be come up with.

“I doubt it,” said Dipper, clicking his tongue. “Most of the rifts close on their own after a few seconds, but the bigger ones need someone to come and close them before anything too world-ending slinks through—especially the rifts outside of Gravity Falls. Weslee wouldn’t even have alerted me unless it was a sustained rift. The spike has to last for over fifteen seconds before it gets reported.”

“So what are we going to do?” asked Mabel, her head hanging over the seat as she sat upside down, tapping her feet against the rear window.

“Can we even close it?” asked Pacifica, trying to make an action plan. “I mean, we don’t have any of that alien adhesive that McGucket used.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” said Dipper, gritting his teeth.

“You mean to tell me that you brought work with you?” said Pacifica, disappointed.

“The work must be done, and it never stops!” said Dipper, passionate and proud. “Still, if it’s a sustained rift, it might be dangerous. I think we should try and call the Stans to get a second opinion before we try to do any heroics.”

“Seconded,” said Pacifica, relaxing in the fact that Dipper was just as reasonable as he was likely to get caught up in supernatural weirdness.

“Thirded,” gurgled Mabel as Dipper began to punch numbers into the keypad on the Weslee.

The Weslee itself was about the size of an old mobile phone—a set of three telescoping antennae were on the top that could be adjusted depending on how wide a net of weirdness detection you wanted to cast. The top half of it was a durable screen that displayed green text on a black background—Pacifica couldn’t read it. The text could be swapped out with a radar screen—it was less precise than the text, but useful if you needed to track a moving target in real time. The bottom was a robust metallic keypad for entering numbers—Dipper was thirty digits in before he stopped and a voice called out “Password Accepted: Contacting Stanford Pines.”

After it said this, nothing happened.

“Why isn’t it ringing?” whispered Mabel, not wanting to trigger anything.

“It’s ringing on his end,” replied Dipper. “We know we’re calling him. We don’t need to pick up. Though, last I heard, they were somewhere in the Arctic Ocean, around eastern Greenland.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s three o’ clock here, so it’s probably around nine PM for them. They should still be up.”

No sooner had he said this than static came over the speaker and the sound of gentle waves filled the cabin of the truck. A few garbled syllables were heard before the voice of Ford came over the radio, loud and clear.

“Dipper, my boy, how good to hear from you! I have the most amazing news!” he said proudly.

“I punched a kraken in the face!” bellowed Stan from a few feet away. “It was so much cooler than the pterodactyl!”

“Stanley proved his mettle once again,” said Ford, with a smile in his voice. “Now go put some aloe on those sucker marks and put a shirt on. No one wants to see that,” he told Stan.

“There’s no one out here but you and me,” said Stan, his voice fading as he went belowdecks. “And you and I are working with the same genes, brother!”

“Yes, but only of us spent thirty years in a fight for survival,” whispered Ford—he had meant for the occupants of the truck to hear. “But Dipper, what’s prompted this call? It’s not time for our weekly report yet.”

“Not quite, Grunkle Ford,” said Dipper, haltingly. “I’m afraid what I have may come as a bit of bad news. I’m in the truck with Mabel and Pacifica and we’re about… ninety miles north of Yachats, Oregon, and my Weslee just lit up like a Christmas tree. We’re getting readings of a sustained rift about twenty miles inland, to the northeast. I can’t get a reading on orientation, but it seems to be about twelve to fifteen feet long. Here’s the kicker—it’s pretty far outside of the Gravity Well.” There was a fifteen second long period of silence on the other end of the line.

“That’s not bad news—just interesting news,” said Ford, attempting to put a positive spin on things. “I wonder if that has anything to do with what Stanley and I just wrapped up out here.”

“I heard that it involved a kraken,” said Mabel, bright as ever.

“It did,” chuckled Ford. “As you know, Dipper, the reason Stanley and I chose to come to the Arctic Ocean first is because of the weirdness harmonics—other than Gravity Falls, it’s the second strongest focal point of strange energy on Earth.

“Now, the biggest rift that’s ever existed in our dimension was the one Bill tore during Weirdmageddon. About 8,000 total feet in length across two planes of shear. Meanwhile, the smaller rifts that we closed after that were only about six feet in length, maximum. The biggest one Stanley and I have encountered out here was around eleven feet.”

“Until today,” Ford continued. “This one was easily four hundred feet long, from top to bottom. Twenty feet of it stuck up above the water, but the rest of it was entirely beneath sea level.”

“Sheesh,” muttered Dipper. Pacifica had no context for it, but it sounded big. Still, if the one Bill tore was twenty times as big, it couldn’t have been that bad, could it?

“How’d you manage to close it?” asked Dipper, astonished. “The big one closed on its own after Bill was no longer there to sustain it, but you had to do this one manually. Did you even have enough glue?”

“We did, barely,” said Ford. “We’ll probably turn around in a couple of days and set a course for Oregon, before the ice starts creeping in. We need to restock anyway.

“But as for how we did it—well, Stanley did most of the work. He put on his wetsuit and scuba gear and climbed up to the top of the mast. I handed him the gun, and then he started at the top of the rift and jumped in, sealing it up all the way. Of course, the part that was above water was the easy part. He only got about ten feet under before we encountered a problem.

“Wherever the rift was opening to, it was into open air. All of the water was just pouring through into the other dimension, like a salt waterfall from nowhere. It almost sucked Stanley in before I was able to grab the safety rope we had around his waist. He came back up and we put him in a proper harness before he went back down, and I was in charge of holding onto the rope and making sure he didn’t slip through—which wasn’t easy.”

“ _Think about those muscles,”_ Pacifica mouthed to Mabel, waving her hand like a fan. Dipper looked up at her and frowned while Mabel crinkled her nose. So it seemed Dipper did get jealous.

“Ultimately, though,” continued Ford, “Stanley was able to get most of it sealed up. The problem was that he was so focused on the rift that we forgot how dangerous our own oceans could be. While he was finishing it up, an Architeuthis came up from beneath him, wrapped its arms around his leg, and jerked him down. Tore up the skin on my palms holding onto the rope, but there wasn’t that much I could do. I could stop him from going lower, but I couldn’t pull him up too fast because of the pressure.”

“This is where you’ve got to let me take over the story, Ford,” said Stan, returning from belowdecks—presumably with a fresh coat of bandages on his wounds and a new shirt. “Because I was the one who was there.” There was a fizzy sound as Stan popped the cap off of a fresh Pitt Cola.

“Anyway, when the squid started coming at me, I did what any self-respecting American would do and started firing that gun for all I was worth. Once I had glued a few tentacles together, it got a lot more skittish.”

“It’s a miracle you didn’t glue yourself to it,” said Ford, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Nah, I’m a better shot than that,” boasted Stan. “So, after that, I reached down for the knife that was strapped to my leg and started slashing. I cut the part that was holding my ankle off, and then got in a few good punches before it went down.”

“The tentacle was still attached to his leg when he came up,” said Ford. A squishy sound could be heard as he presumably poked it. “There’s nothing weird about it, unfortunately, but there’s some good meat here. It’ll be a welcome change from the freeze-dried rations we’re used to.”

“Are you not worried about anything that came through the portal while it was still open?” asked Dipper. “Who knows what could have gotten into the ocean?”

“That’s not much of a concern. The water pressure was too great to let anything in this way. At worst, a few Earth fish wound up on the other side. But the concept of water pressure may be helpful for explaining what’s currently happening in your region of the world,” said Ford, trailing off for a moment. He was clearly thinking.

“How about this,” said Ford, returning to the conversation. “Imagine a balloon filled with water—and no matter how much water comes out, it’ll never run out. The balloon is filled to bursting at all times. Now when we poke one hole in it, a lot of water, or in our case weirdness, is going to spurt out very quickly. This was Weirdmageddon.”

“But we patched Weirdmageddon,” said Pacifica, causing Dipper to look up and smile. He had forgotten that other people were there, but he was glad she was contributing to the conversation.

“Good observation, Pacifica,” said Ford. He then turned to Stan and said in a whisper “That is Pacifica, right? We never spent that much time together. I don’t know her voice.”

“Yeah, that’s her,” said Stan, burping loudly. “I’d recognize that valley-girl accent anywhere.”

“Good observation, Pacifica!” said Ford, louder, trying to cover for Stan. Everyone in the truck rolled their eyes, since everything had been perfectly audible to them. The Weslee had some good speakers. “We did patch Weirdmageddon, but that means that all that pressure is trying to find other places to escape. Hence, that energy would concentrate at the second largest harmonic point—the Arctic Ocean, opening smaller rifts all over the place. Based on our readings, this was the largest rift that remained—so patching it could have caused a Weirdmageddon-like pulse and opened a rift backon your end.”

“The redistribution of weirdness pressure may have been enough to overcome the natural effect of the Gravity Well,” mumbled Dipper, considering the possibility very seriously.

“Now granted, this does make several assumptions about how weirdness works that we don’t exactly have the grounds to make, but it may be a useful framework to think in,” responded Ford.

“I think it’ll work for now,” said Dipper. “Plus, we don’t exactly know how Bill’s defeat changed the strength of the Well. It’s just as likely that sealing the rift made the dimensional fabric stronger than it was to begin with.”

“Entirely a possibility, my boy,” said Ford, eagerly. “We’ll have to do some more measurements once we make it back to Gravity Falls. As for now, though, we’ve got a much more concrete problem to deal with—what we are going to have you do about that rift that’s near you.”

“Let us at it, Grunkle Ford!” shouted Mabel, raising her fists in the air. “We can handle it. I’ve got the grappling hook, and I’m sure Dipper’s got a lot of fun illegal stuff in his toolbox!”

“It’s not illegal,” said Dipper, quietly. “Just unlicensed, unreported, and unpatented.”

“Ooh, a bad boy,” said Pacifica, causing Dipper to blush.

“I’m not so sure, Mabel,” said Ford. “You remember how bad Bill was, and we’ve seen some stuff out here that really had us on the ropes. I just don’t know how safe it would be, or how urgent closing this rift is.”

“But there are three of us, and only two of you,” said Pacifica. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was getting excited at the prospect of going rift-closing as well. “And, no offense, but you’re old.”

“It’s just a matter of time for you too, doll,” said Stan, before burping again. “But they may have a point, Ford. They’ve dealt with some stuff before, and they’re not exactly kids anymore. Dipper’s got two chest hairs now! And granted, they’re the weird thick black ones that come in before the real stuff, but it’s a good start.”

“He’s up to three!” shouted Mabel, sending rosy blooms into both Dipper and Pacifica’s cheeks.

“There ya go!” bellowed Stan in mock joy. “Manly man.”

Ford sighed. “Fine, you’ve convinced me,” he said wearily. “I feel like you three can handle this. Just be careful about it—document the location of the rift, and don’t get in a fight you can’t handle. We can always come back and close it later if we need to. Have you got the glue gun?”

“I’ve got the glue gun, about fifteen cartridges for it, some normal gloves, a pair of your electric gloves, and a magnet gun.”

“Trench coats?” asked Ford.

“Of course I’ve got the trench coats,” said Dipper, rolling his eyes. “Like you can go rift-closing without trench coats.”

“They’re fine,” said Stan, accompanied by a sound that sounded like him patting Ford on the back. “They’ve got the skills, they’ve got the tech. And they’re Pines. Well, two of them are. I make no promises about the third one.”

“I’m a Pines at heart,” said Pacifica, leaning away from the Weslee.

“Hey, kid, until you steal the last name like Gideon stole my deed, it don’t count in my book,” bellowed Stan. Pacifica had thankfully moved far enough back that Dipper didn’t notice her blush intensify, though Mabel did look at her with a knowing glint in her eye.

“Technically Stanley, he stole _my_ deed,” said Ford, as Stan walked away.

“I was you,” said Stan. “Same thing.”

“Anyway, you three,” said Ford, returning to the conversation at hand. “Godspeed. And report back to me whenever you successfully close the rift. I can track the coordinates of your Weslee III from my Weslee I, so if you stay still for too long, I may send the local authorities after you, which I’m sure we’d all like to avoid.”

“Agreed,” said Dipper. “We’ll move to the location, suit up, and then get to business. Shouldn’t be more than an hour. Hour and a half to be safe.”

“Just try to get it done before the sun sets. Good luck kids!” said Ford as everyone in the truck stirred into action.

“See you soon!” added Stan from a distance before the line clicked off, and the Weslee went back to displaying green text. Dipper tapped a few more keys on the Weslee before setting it on the center console. He, Pacifica, and Mabel looked around at each other before Dipper finally broke the silence. 

“So,” he said, a grin breaking across his face, “who’s ready to close a rift into another weird and wild dimension?”


	7. Toolbox

Mabel’s hand shot up, accidentally punching the roof of the truck. “Ow…” she whimpered to herself as she lowered her arm and checked for bruising. Pacifica raised her hand more meekly, but with a grin as wide as Dippers.

“Then let’s go!” said Dipper eagerly. He turned back into his seat and faced forward as Pacifica lowered her legs to the ground, reassuming a normal posture after the fright the Weslee gave her. Dipper checked the road to the left before taking his foot off the brake and pressing the gas, which only caused the truck to rev. They didn’t move.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” panicked Dipper, looking around in a panic as his foot returned to the brake. “What’s wrong with the truck? Surely something from the rift couldn’t have gotten here that quickly.”

“It’s in park, Dipstick,” said Pacifica as she leaned over and shifted it into drive confidently, her hand remaining on the gear stick after she did so. “I shifted it after you almost ran us off the road. I didn’t want to risk us slipping further into the trees.”

“I didn’t even notice it,” said Dipper, trying to regain his bravado. He glanced at Pacifica’s hand, which remained where it was.

 _So,_ Pacifica thought to herself, _I’m not the only one who pays attention to things like that._ It was a pleasant thought.

The sun slowly creeped towards the horizon as the truck rolled north. It was summer in Oregon, so there was still plenty of time before it got dark. Still, Dipper loved to play things on the safe side, and they still had to get to Astoria after this business with the rift was settled.

The numbers on the Weslee slowly ticked down as they drew closer to the site of the rift. Pacifica’s skills as a navigator were suddenly in much greater demand. It wasn’t as simple as following a route highlighted in red anymore—she had to look at the distance and direction the Weslee was indicating to figure out the best route to take so they could get as close as possible to the site before they disembarked from the truck. They needed to get to the rift fresh.

Still, other than a couple of wrong turns down dirt roads that weren’t even marked on the map, they were able to get to within a half mile of the rift before the road ran out. The pavement terminated in a rickety covered wooden bridge over a small creek, next to which was posted a sign that read _End of County Maintained Road._ Dipper wasn’t about to take his new used truck over the bridge, so he turned around and pulled over into an untamed patch of grass, making sure that Pacifica’s door opened onto the pavement.

“We’re here,” Dipper said as he turned off the truck and fumbled with the keys. “Let’s get down to business.” The trio popped open the doors and exited the truck, with Dipper immediately turning to the bed of the truck. Planting one foot on a tire and gripping the side with his hands—remarkably soft given the work that they were used to doing—he vaulted up onto the truck and went to the toolbox as Mabel and Pacifica stood to the side. Mabel was bouncing on her heels, while Pacifica had her arms crossed and was trying her best not to look impressed or excited.

Dipper took one key from the keyring and stuck it into the left lock on the toolbox. He then reached into his wallet and took out a card—embedded in the card was a tiny foldable key, which he inserted into the right lock. Turning them both at the same time, a small panel on the lid of the box popped open and a blue light projected a grid onto Dipper’s face. He brought each eye close to the light, which soon turned to green.

“Retinal mismatch confirmed,” a tinny voice said from inside the box as a grinding metal sound was heard from within. As the last security bolts were withdrawn, the lid of the box lifted slightly. Dipper slipped his fingers into the gap and lifted it, eyes shining at what was within.

“Retinal mismatch?” asked Pacifica curiously. “Why’s that? Shouldn’t it be a regular match?”

“Mismatch is better for our purposes,” said Dipper as he reached into the box. “You can’t have two different retinas if you only have one eye.”

“I hate that that makes sense,” said Pacifica as Dipper stood up and started to lay things out on the bed of the truck.

“Step one,” he said as he pulled three pieces of fabric out of the box, tossing one to Pacifica and one to Mabel. “We have to look the part.”

He unfolded his trench coat and pulled it on over his fleece jacket, fastening the buttons and securing it as best he could. As Pacifica rolled hers out and let it spill onto the ground, Dipper pulled the collar of his coat close to his lips and gently licked it. He immediately turned to the other side of the truck and started spitting, trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

“Oh yeah,” he said, turning back around with a grimace on his face. “They’re still good.”

“What was that?” asked Pacifica, trepidatious. The trench coat was an affront to her fashion sense to begin with, but the fact that they might be covered with poison made her even more reticent to put it on.

“It’s a secretion from some kind of plant that Ford stumbled into on his travels. He was never able to draw it in the journals to his satisfaction because he said it kept ‘changing,’ but it basically acts as a protective agent if you massage it into the coat. Acid will roll right off of it, and the fabric is much stronger and more resistant to punctures and tears. Plus, as much as I like the pockets in my normal jacket,” Dipper said with a grin before opening his coat to reveal the inside flaps, “this one’s got it beat.”

There were dozens of pockets arrayed on the inside of the coat. Most of them were empty, for specimens and other samples, but there were a few that had essentials. Dipper whipped them out one by one to show Pacifica, who was fumbling to put her coat on. Mabel had already donned hers, and was trying to find a suitable new pocket to stash her grappling hook in.

“We’ve got a regular knife, matches, silver bullets but no gun, strangely enough, a wooden stake, garlic powder, a water filtration straw, reflective blanket, first aid kit, and some nutrition bars,” he said before reaching into the innermost pocket of the right flap with a mysterious grin on his face.

“But this,” whispered Dipper, drawing out a seven inch long knife with a thick serrated blade and a gleaming brass grip, “is the cream of the crop. Ideally, we’ll never need to use it. Most creatures can easily be intimidated or even reasoned with, but this is for when the going gets rough.”

“It’s a big knife,” said Pacifica, turning hers over nonchalantly. “I mean, it’s a decent knife, but it’s not huge. I’ve trained with the Northwest heirloom swords before.”

“It’s not the size of the blade,” Dipper said, cheeks growing crimson before he steeled himself and continued with business, “it’s what it can do. Inside the handle is a small reserve of specially blended gasoline. If you flip up this cover and press this tiny button,” Dipper said, pointing them out to Pacifica, “the knife will inject the gas through a tube down the length of the blade and into whoever—or whatever—has been stabbed. Once the canister is empty, a mechanism flips on the inside that sends a spark into the tube and towards the gasoline. It’s at that point that you leave the knife inside whatever it’s in and run, because as soon as that spark hits, it’s going to tear a hole the size of a car into its flesh. Or, if the thing is smaller than a car, it just won’t be there anymore.”

“Badass,” said Pacifica, returning it to its sheath with a smile on her face.

“Like I said,” reiterated Dipper, “ideally, we won’t use it. There are less lethal measures. Which is what these are for.”

Dipper then reached down and picked up two objects. He tossed a gray gun to Mabel and a scrap of wired black cloth to Pacifica. Peeling it apart, she discovered that it was a pair of gloves with glowing discs on them.

“Alright, Dip, tell me what I’m working with here,” said Mabel, examining the gun. She pointed it at herself, only to have a beam of blue light shoot out and engulf her face. The gun shot towards her, punching her in the face.

“GAAAHHH!!” she screamed in absolute panic, sending a flock of birds that had been resting in a nearby tree into the air. Dipper quickly leapt out of the bed of the truck and grabbed the gun, sliding back the power meter and causing the blue beam to dissipate.

“This is a magnet gun,” said Dipper, holding it while Mabel rubbed her mouth. “It is not a toy. I want to be very clear about that. It was at half power, and it was that attracted to the metal that’s in your braces. Basically, if there’s anything metal, this can either move it, or move you to it.”

“So… it’s like an infinite grappling hook for metal?” said Mabel, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Basically, yes,” Dipper sighed.

For a moment, Mabel was silent. Then, she pulled her grappling hook out of her trench coat and spun it in her right hand as she twirled the magnet gun in her left. “DUEL WIELDING!” she screamed as she turned and grappled up into a tree. “I don’t see any metal up here!” she shouted down to Dipper.

Dipper rolled his eyes and turned to Pacifica, who was struggling to put on the electric gloves.

“Where did you get these, Dipper?” she said as he walked over to her.

“Sorry,” said Dipper as he took her left hand in his and started to work the glove down around her delicate fingers. He was focused on his work, and so thankfully didn’t see the blood drain from her face—though she wondered if he couldn’t feel her heartbeat. “These used to be Ford’s, and he’s got that extra finger. I snipped off the… pinky-plus, and tried to close the glove back like normal, but my sewing skills are mediocre at best.”

“Why didn’t you just get Mabel to help you?” Pacifica smirked as Dipper moved on to the other hand. She flexed her left hand, looking more closely at the glove—it wasn’t a bad job at all.

“Two reasons,” said Dipper as he finished and leaned back against the truck. "One is that the fabric is a very delicate blend of rubber and Kevlar. The other is that those things are incredibly high-voltage, and mixing Mabel with electricity rarely goes well.”

“High voltage, huh?” smiled Pacifica.

“Yeah,” said Dipper as he mirrored her smile. “Take a look at the wires on the palm and fingers. Essentially, all you have to do is grab something and then flex your fingers, and it’ll send a pulse of electricity into whatever you’re holding. The two caveats are that you have to have a pretty good grip so the electricity can travel along the nodes, and that you probably don’t want to hold onto anything too long—it increases the risk of death in the thing you’re holding, and makes it more likely that the electricity will jump back to any bit of your exposed skin and electrocute you instead.”

“What if I just held my arms, then?” said Pacifica, asking a perfectly reasonable question.

“As soon as the gloves detect any electricity in your own body, they’ll shut down. But it’s still a nasty jolt.”

“You sound as though you’re speaking from experience,” said Pacifica. Dipper responded with a sheepish grin. “Anyway,” Pacifica continued, “Mabel’s got magnets and I’ve got electricity. What do you get?”

“My sharp wits, and…” Dipper said as he reached into the bed of the truck, causing Pacifica to roll her eyes. “The real moneymaker. The glue gun.”

The glue gun Dipper was holding was a smaller version of Ford’s—in a pinch, you could get away with holding it in one hand, though it was certainly better with two. It was made of grey alien metal tapering away to a hollow point. A rectangular glass tank filled with a purplish liquid sat where a scope normally would, which fed the glue into the gun.

Dipper slipped on a pair of gloves similar to Pacifica’s, except that they lacked the electric nodes and went all the way up to his elbows. The gloves were coated with the same plant lotion as the trench coat, which made it much tougher to get your fingers glued together—a common hazard in this line of work.

A light thud could be heard as Mabel lowered herself to the ground with her normal grappling hook and approached the truck. Dipper reached into the toolbox and pulled out two additional tanks of glue, which he slipped into the pockets in his trench coat. Just in case. He then slung the glue gun over his shoulder and closed the toolbox. He reached into the cab of the truck and pulled out the Weslee, which indicated that the rift had remained largely stable—it appeared to be growing and shrinking like a pulse, but not by more than a few inches either way.

“Are we all ready?” said Dipper as he looked at the girls. They nodded at him as he smiled, checked the Weslee, and began to cross the covered bridge. He hadn’t gotten more than two steps, though, when he stopped and quickly ran back to the truck. He reached inside and pulled out a handful of coins—Pacifica was sure they were the ones that had previously been mixed with the dirty napkins in the cupholder.

“Here, take these,” said Dipper, sliding the coins into Mabel’s hands. “Just in case there’s no metal lying around when we get there and you need something to throw around.”

Mabel nodded solemnly, but couldn’t resist shaking the coins around in her pocket and smiling at the jingle. Once again, Dipper took point as he followed the directions of the Weslee across the covered bridge. This time, they made it all the way into the woods.


	8. Whitetail

The pines reached up and around the trio as they advanced into the woods. The covered bridge led to a dirt road that continued further into the distance, but it soon became covered in soaking wet leaves and rotting sticks—it was probably an old hunting trail, though no one had been here for quite some time. This was just as well—the fewer people who knew about or encountered these rifts, the better.

Pacifica was in the middle of the group, with Mabel bringing up the rear. Mabel continued to jingle as she walked, while Pacifica was more focused on carefully placing her feet to avoid stepping into patches of mud. Her boots were high-quality, after all.

As they drew closer to the site of the rift, Dipper tapped on the Weslee and switched the numbers on the screen to the radar. A single pulsing dot was ahead of them, approximately fifty meters away.

“It looks like this is where we leave the trail,” said Dipper, gesturing at a narrow gap in the woods. “Try and stay behind the trees, and call it out as soon as you see the rift. It should be very easy to spot—just make sure not to engage until we’re all there.” He glanced at Pacifica, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, looking concerned.

“I’m ready,” she responded, steeling herself and drawing a stern expression over her face. To drive the point home, she flexed her fingers and sent blue sparks arcing through the air. Dipper grinned.

“Let’s go, then,” he said before ducking into the woods.

As soon as they were inside the tree line, Mabel pointed her grappling hook into the sky and ascended into the canopy. She leapt from tree to tree, clambering over the branches to stay hidden from the ground. Pacifica and Dipper were left alone on the forest floor—Dipper was far too focused on tracking the rift and hiding from it, which left Pacifica alone with her thoughts.

She wasn’t so sure that she was ready for this. She had handled Bill, defeated an army of angry sentient golf balls, seen her father’s face tortured into a Cronenberg monstrosity, banished a Category 10 ghost, and had felt the pressure of her parents and society crushing her for far longer than either of those weirdness events lasted. But in all of those cases, she had known what was going on. There was something concrete she could do—a lever to pull, a place to stand, a club to swing. But this rift could be anything.

The fact that Ford was nervous about it also worried her. He had been bested by Bill, but he had never been really scared of him—not that she had seen, at least. There was always something that he was doing to fight against Bill; he was never just apathetic. And neither Ford nor McGucket were there to help them.

Pacifica had faith in Dipper, though—and why wouldn’t she? He had proven his mettle time and time again. He had even been chosen by Ford to carry the Weslee III and a glue gun. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t shake the image of his scream as he turned to wood, helpless, or the tremulous voice of that scared boy on her doorstep in the middle of the night, asking what was happening. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. No one was out here to judge her for that.

“Ca-CAW! Ca-CAW!” screamed Mabel from the top of a fir tree about sixty feet to her left. “It’s over here!”

“Birds can’t talk, Mabel,” said Dipper, as he led the way to the base of the tree Mabel was in. “Not the ones around here, anyway.”

“But my impression of the bird was so spot on I wanted to make sure you knew it was me,” fired back Mabel as she descended from the tree with her hook. “Come on, it’s over here.”

Mabel hid behind a tree and pointed at an eerie orange light that was shining from the center of a clearing. A violent hum could be heard from the source of the light. Dipper spread his arms and stepped out into the clearing, hiding the two girls behind his body.

The rift itself was, almost true to the Weslee, around eleven feet long, and oriented diagonally in the air. It shimmered in the forest breeze, razor thin, and would have been tough to see if there wasn’t the spooky orange light bleeding through. Occasionally, a single red drop of liquid fell from the lowest point of the rift and fell to the ground, setting off a tiny blue, green, and red fire that sent sparks over a two foot circle. Thankfully, the miniscule blazes were quickly extinguished by the ambient moisture of the grass.

“This certainly looks like it,” said Dipper as he walked forwards, reaching into his jacket. Pacifica felt the urge to grab him by the shoulder and pull him back, but trusted that he knew what he was doing. Dipper produced a small glass vial from his coat and held it beneath the rift, collecting the drops of the liquid until it was about half full. He then sealed it off and returned it to his jacket.

“Let’s not waste time here,” he said as he unslung the glue gun from his shoulder and held it up. A series of lights ran up and down the barrel, pulsing as the machinery began to whirr. Nothing happened. “It takes a bit to warm up,” he said apologetically.

Mabel and Pacifica started to patrol the area, walking around the clearing. It appeared to be a natural clearing—it hadn’t been blown apart when the rift appeared, which was good news. Mabel soon became distracted with the squirrels, which she had given names while she was up in the trees. The squirrels appeared skittish—more so than they usually were. There were very few of them around, and almost no birds.

Pacifica, unimpressed by the tree rats, focused on the trees themselves. There was something odd about them. All around the clearing, from about a foot above the ground to maybe four feet, based on her height, the trees were missing their bark. It looked like it wasn’t cleanly blown off, but was instead scraped away by something. There were markings on the soft wood inside the trees that looked like a hard stick or tool had been pressed into it.

She got closer and crouched down, focusing on the biggest tree. She knew that deer often scraped their antlers against trees like this to clean the fresh velvet off, and left behind scraps of tissue. She had seen it on a hunting trip before—it was tradition that a Northwest add at least one new head to the ‘Problem Room,’ but she hadn’t managed to bag anything. Perhaps more intentionally than she had let on.

This did not look like a normal scrape. The leftovers weren’t fluffy and rolled up like normal—instead, this looked like hair and fur, stained red with blood. She felt a pit growing in her stomach as she heard a ‘spurt’ from behind her, and turned to see Dipper holding the glue gun—it was only the first strands of adhesive patching the rift, from the bottom up.

She sighed in relief, focusing on Dipper. She was sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for what she saw. Bears scratched on trees too. And nature came up with surprises all the time. As she took a step towards Dipper, however, her eyes focused on the trees behind him and she froze.

A deer was standing there, perfectly still. It was a doe—not the kind of deer with antlers, and not the kind that made the scrapes she had seen. The back half of it was hidden in the shadow of the trees, but the front seemed unnaturally squared—not the kind of sinuousness deer normally had.

“Dipper,” she said as she advanced towards him slowly, taking care not to move too quickly. She wasn’t concerned about stepping in mud now, but about cracking branches. “Turn to your left.”

Dipper’s eyes grew wide, then hard and stern as he realized what she was saying. He moved slowly, but actually relaxed once he saw the deer. It apparently wasn’t as frightening as he had been expecting.

“Oh,” he said, chuckling. “It probably just hasn’t been around people before. Doesn’t know that we’re the alpha species around here.”

“It’s _not normal_ ,” Pacifica said emphatically as she took a step forward. This time, the deer moved forward as well. Pacifica moved faster. She hoped Mabel was far enough away that she wouldn’t be in danger if something happened.

“What makes you say that?” said Dipper, looking at the deer again. It took another step, and his eyes grew wide.

“Holy sh…” he said as he pulled the gun away from the rift and pointed it at the deer. Pacifica felt her stomach rise into her throat as she felt the urge to vomit.

“That,” she choked out.

The deer was now standing in the clearing, fully illuminated by the sun. The front half of it appeared normal, but the back half was a mass of hanging flesh, uncovered by fur and covered in blood and flies. The amount of muscle fell away until the legs, which were nothing but exposed bones. The hooves had dropped off, leaving the deer taller on its front legs than its back ones—the barbs of bone on its back legs dug into the soft dirt and leaves like spurs.

“Get behind me,” said Dipper in a panic, “and close your coat. That thing might look like a deer, but that’s about it. It’s a dire deer. A dyre.”

“What are we going to do?” whispered Pacifica as the deer continued to advance, and they began to retreat back into the trees.

“We have to either kill it, or get it back into the other dimension,” replied Dipper. “We can’t leave it here.”

“Can we kill it?” said Pacifica, wondering how it wasn’t dead already.

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out,” said Dipper. “Let’s try to get it through the rift.”

The dyre continued to advance, and Dipper and Pacifica continued to retreat in small, measured paces. The sun was getting lower, casting everything in an orange glow that mirrored the light of the rift. Eventually, the dyre stood in the center of the clearing, as close to the rift as it was going to get.

“Now’s our chance,” whispered Dipper. “I’ll glue its front legs down, and then we can figure something out.” His muscles flexed as he raised the gun and prepared to lunge forward for a better shot, but the dyre suddenly began to shiver.

It raised its head and began to let out a slow and plaintive wail, like the song of a whale, but much higher pitched—no sound a deer should ever make. As it did so, white pus started to pour from its mouth and eyes as the skin peeled back from its skull—a bloody flower that left the white bone of its eye sockets and jaw exposed. The six red petals of flesh were filled with irregular and malformed teeth, as the ones that it normally had fell out onto the ground. Pacifica retched, and Dipper shook.

As the moan tapered off, three more suddenly filled the air.

“It’s calling to its herd on the other side of the rift!” said Dipper, leaping forward. “We’ve got to move, now! Get back!”

He charged forward and pulled the trigger on the glue gun, sending a hot pulse of steaming adhesive towards the front legs of the dyre, fastening it in place. The beast’s scream suddenly got deeper, and far angrier. It struggled to move, and was thrashing as the bone spurs of its hind legs punctured the ground. It’s mouth, if it could be called a mouth, snapped shut, sending a spray of blood and saliva into the air that rolled off of Dipper’s coat.

As Dipper lowered the glue gun, the dyre changed tactics. It plunged its back legs deep into the moss and pulled up, with all its might. In a horrific spray of red and white, the bones of its front legs pulled out and away from their hooves and skin, leaving its external parts glued limply the ground. The beast now stood two feet high, on four sharp, pale white spurs of bone.

Dipper backpedaled as the beast screamed again and its legs began to whir, slithering over the ground faster than should have been possible. As Dipper moved back, he stumbled, giving the dyre a chance to close the gap. Dipper pulled his coat over himself as the dyre leapt into the air, its front legs acting like sickles as they arced towards Dipper. Pacifica screamed.

Before the dyre lanced through Dipper, however, it let out a sharp exhalation of breath and a hollow thud as it was knocked to the side. It collapsed to the ground, writhing only briefly before scrambling back up. A quarter, traveling incredibly fast, had embedded itself into the dyre’s shoulder.

Pacifica, mouth agape, glanced to the right to see Mabel standing at the edge of the clearing, breathing heavily. She held the magnet gun in her right hand, and had three more quarters pinched between her fingers.

“Mabel!” shouted Dipper and Pacifica simultaneously, as the dyre let out another roar. Its sounds were becoming more ragged and choked. It charged forward again, this time bypassing Dipper and Pacifica and heading straight for Mabel.

Her eyes grew wide as she dropped the quarters and pulled out her grappling hook, shooting up into the trees. Pacifica and Dipper let out a sigh of relief as the dyre paced around the base of her tree, unable to get a good enough grip to climb.

Dipper turned, catching his breath, and got to his feet, when Mabel screamed again, accompanied by a sharp crack. Dipper’s head snapped up instantly, only to see the dyre dangling from the trunk of the tree, using its bony spurs like pickaxes as it crept upwards, plunging what remained of its legs deep into the wood to pull itself up towards Mabel. Already, it was halfway up the tree.

“Mabel!” shouted Dipper, charging forwards. “Toss me the magnet gun!”

She didn’t argue as she dropped it down to Dipper, hitting the dyre on the head on the way down and causing it to growl and increase its pace. A shower of change followed, infuriating the beast further.

Dipper caught the gun effortlessly and reached into his coat, pulling out the normal knife that was inside of it—evidently this wasn’t a serious enough situation for the explosive gun.

“Let’s hope this works,” he mumbled, as he tossed the knife on the ground. “It’s been a while since I’ve used the magnet gun.”

Dipper pointed the gun at the knife and pulled the trigger, sending out a pulse of blue light that engulfed the metal blade. He lifted it off the ground and turned a dial on the gun, controlling the distance at which it was suspended. He extended the reach and pointed it towards the dyre, which was within five feet of Mabel, who was reloading her grappling hook to change trees as quickly as her fumbling fingers could.

“Pacifica, take this,” said Dipper as he tossed her the glue gun. “As soon as that thing is back through the rift, close it. For now, stand clear.” He then grabbed the magnet gun with both hands, closing one eye as he precisely wedged the knife in between the tree and the body of the dyre. He groaned and pulled backwards as he changed the strength of the magnetism. The dyre moaned and screeched as the knife pressed into its flesh, attracted through its body to the magnet gun.

A snapping sound was heard as the joints of the dyre broke away, leaving its hind legs embedded in the tree, the rest of its body tumbling towards the ground. When it hit the earth with a dull thud, it was only motionless for a few seconds before it continued to writhe and struggle to reach Mabel, fumbling as best it could on its rear femurs.

Dipper struggled to pull the dyre back towards the portal, the knife digging ever deeper into its body as its mouth snapped and clicked, horrific teeth clacking against each other. Still, Dipper dragged it, foot by foot, back to where it came from.

He was almost on the other side of the portal when the dyre seemed to realize why it was being held back. It released its grip on the dirt and turned, charging as quickly as it could towards Dipper, propelled not only by its own power, but also by the knife which was being pulled towards the gun. Pacifica screamed as Dipper attempted to roll out of the way.

He was too slow. The dyre, leading with the sharp bone of its front left leg, lanced into the muscles of Dipper’s calf, embedding itself and pulling Dipper to the ground with a wince and a groan.

Pacifica tossed the glue gun to the side as she charged forward, barely thinking. The dyre screeched again, its throat rattling as it raised its right leg to bury itself into Dipper’s thigh, slowly dragging its decaying body and ragged mouth to his chest. As it began the motion, however, it froze.

Blue arcs of electricity coursed through its body as Pacifica stood over it, both of her hands wrapped around its spine—where the neck met what was left of the body. Her fingers sank into the putrid flesh as she squeezed with all the force she had. The voltage caused all of the muscles that the dyre had left to seize up—its left leg straightening and tearing itself out of Dippers leg as he screamed, this time in earnest.

The dyre was immobilized, and with a hating roar, Pacifica pulled it off of Dipper and slung it back through the rift, his knife still embedded in its chest, tossing it away and into the other dimension. She turned towards Dipper, tears in her eyes as he lay on the ground.

“Glue…” was the only word he muttered before he passed out on the forest floor. Pacifica was in the process of wiping the tears from her eyes, preparing to get the glue gun when Mabel stepped up.

“Take care of the dipstick,” she said as she raised the glue gun to the rift and began to seal what remained of it. “If Ford won’t let me use his, then I’ll use Dipper’s while he’s not here to complain.”

Pacifica grimaced and turned back towards Dipper. A pool of blood was rapidly staining the left leg of his jeans, and she needed to get to the wound. She reached into her own coat and pulled out the first aid kit and her regular knife. She pulled the electric gloves off as gently and as quickly as she could, and then ran a thin slice down the leg of Dipper’s jeans, peeling back the denim to expose the wound.

It was bloody, but it wasn’t as bad as she was anticipating. By the time the dyre had gotten to him, most of its muscle had already fallen away, so it wasn’t able to generate that much power. The puncture only extended about three quarters of an inch inwards, but the real damage was done when the dyre had contracted and torn itself out of his leg. She supposed part of that was her fault, but she didn’t regret it. She did what had to be done.

She was just thankful that it was too low and too far to the right to have punctured an artery. She didn’t know what she would have done if that had been the case. But as things stood, she had a first aid kit and plenty to do. She pulled out a small vial of diluted hydrogen peroxide and poured it over the wound, using gauze to wipe away the blood that continued to come out, though it was beginning to clot.

Dipper’s face scrunched into a wince, which Pacifica smiled at. That meant that he could feel what she was doing, and that he was probably going to be fine. His heartbeat was fast, as was his breathing—but then again, so was hers.

With the puncture and tear cleaned, Pacifica pulled out a small case of syringes, selecting the one labeled “lidocaine,” which she injected in three pulses around the wound. She was surprised that some of her private school lessons were finally coming in handy—they liked to encourage kids to be doctors, and started early.

However, the most useful part of her training would be her embroidery skills, as she pulled out a fairly thick needle and antiseptic blue thread. She laced the needle expertly, and took a deep breath before she began to stitch Dipper’s wound together. Mabel grunted as the last strands of alien adhesive sealed the rift, which glimmered for a moment before vanishing entirely. She powered the gun down and leaned over it as she watched Pacifica work, impressed.

The skin began to pull together as Pacifica’s gentle stitching progressed. For someone with no formal medical training, it was impressive. She wiped away the last of the blood before smearing an antibacterial agent over the site of the wound. It didn’t smell like anything medical she had encountered before, but she assumed that it was some other high quality product Ford had discovered during his travels.

Mabel walked around her as Pacifica wrapped a bandage around Dipper’s leg. As good a nurse as she was, he would likely have a new scar to add to the collection on his calves. She had been too focused on her work to admire them. Mabel picked up the magnet gun, which had fallen limply from Dipper’s hand. His breathing had evened out, and a look of calm was growing over his face.

“Well,” said Pacifica, in halfway between a sigh and a sob. “What do we do now? We need to get back to the car before the sun sets.”

“We keep on to Astoria!” said Mabel, tucking away the magnet gun as she pulled out the reflective blanket and began to unfold it on the ground. “I’ll drive, don’t worry. You can sit in the back with Dipper.” Pacifica grinned weakly.

“How are we going to get him back to the truck, though?” asked Pacifica, testing his weight. “I think we could carry him, but I don’t want to wake him up, or put any more pressure on his leg than we absolutely have to.”

“That’s what this is for,” said Mabel, gesturing to the blanket. “Help me move him over here.” Mabel grabbed Dipper under his arms, while Pacifica grabbed his ankles, gently slinging him onto the reflective sheet. Mabel then pulled out the magnet gun, checked the settings, and pointed it at the ground. A blue light engulfed the blanket, and as Mabel lifted the gun, the blanket rose with it, with Dipper cradled on top.

“Voila!” said Mabel exuberantly. “Instant aluminum stretcher! Plus, he doesn’t have braces, so there’s no way we’d just pick him up by his teeth!”

Pacifica rolled her eyes at Mabel as she packed up what remained of the first aid kit and returned the knife to her jacket. She slung the glue gun over her shoulder and made sure that the electric gloves were tucked into her coat. The two girls walked together back to the covered bridge, accompanied only by the setting sun and the gentle chirping of the birds and chattering of squirrels, which were beginning to return to the area.

Back at the truck, Mabel unlocked the cab and gently maneuvered Dipper into the backseat, his feet behind the driver. Mabel and Pacifica took off their trench coats and laid them on the floor, since they couldn’t get into the toolbox without Dipper. The magnet gun, electric gloves, and slightly oozing glue gun joined them.

As Mabel clambered into the driver’s seat, thrilled at finally getting the chance to drive Dipper’s truck, Pacifica gently lifted Dipper’s head and set it in her lap. The truck roared to life as Mabel steered them back onto the highway, soon returning to the coast. The Oregon sun was beginning to slip beneath the horizon, casting the inside of the vehicle in a golden light.

There was no sound but that of the tires on the pavement and Dipper’s gentle breathing. Mabel, thankfully, had not turned her mixtape back on. Pacifica’s breathing began to slow as well—that had been terrifying. And unlike the Corduroy ghost, Dipper had actually gotten hurt. But thanks to her help, she was sure he was going to be fine.

“You can kiss him and I won’t tell,” Mabel said, making eye contact with Pacifica in the rearview mirror. Pacifica blushed.

“Not yet,” said Pacifica, choosing instead to run her hands through his hair. “I want him to know what’s going on when we kiss.” She paused. “Maybe this will finally give him the motivation to take the next step.”

“I’ve told you that he’s terrified of you,” said Mabel, laughing to herself. “And he’s also hopelessly in love with you. And you’ve got a thing for him. I don’t get the hesitation.”

“I don’t know either,” said Pacifica, the road slipping away beneath them. “I guess we’re both scared that things might change. I like what we have.”

“But love is all about having what you have. And also kissing!” chirped Mabel. “And other such things,” she added slyly.

“That might be scariest part of all,” Pacifica whispered, not nearly loud enough for Mabel to hear.

“Look,” continued Mabel, “I know these things. You both need to be mutually honest, and I’m going to make you do it before this trip is over. This birthday present is as much for you two as it is for me. So do it on your own before I get involved.”

“There’s no way you’ve planned all this,” said Pacifica, smiling. Dipper’s hair was just as soft as she thought it’d be. The beginnings of stubble on his cheeks and chin weren’t bad either.

“You don’t know what I’ve planned,” said Mabel, grinning. “I am the Love God’s successor, you know.”

Pacifica opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by a harsh vibration and a quiet chime that rang through the cabin of the truck, causing Dipper to jolt and turn. Pacifica reached into his coat and pulled out the Weslee, which had Ford’s name displayed on the screen.

“Hello?” she said as she pressed a button. “Ford?”

“Pacifica!” said Ford, his voice quieter than it was before. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. How did things go with the rift?”

“Umm… they could have gone better,” Pacifica answered hesitantly.

“I was afraid of that when you picked up,” sighed Ford. “What happened?”

“We managed to close the rift,” started Pacifica, “but something came out. Dipper called it a ‘dyre.’ It looked like a deer, but it was like it was decaying to a skeleton in front of us. It should have been dead, but it just wouldn’t stop. Dipper got stabbed in the leg.”

“How badly?” started Ford.

“Not too bad,” said Pacifica. “He’ll be fine. I patched him up.”

“I’m impressed,” said Ford. “I had a feeling you were tougher than the Northwests I knew in my day.” Pacifica smiled. “But a dyre, you say? I don’t recall encountering one of those before.”

“I think it’s just a name Dipper gave it in the spur of the moment. It may be something else.”

“Still, a decaying deer that’s still moving is terrifying, no matter what you’ve dealt with. Well done. May I speak to Dipper?”

“He’s sleeping right now. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you when he wakes up.”

“Ah,” said Ford, understandingly. “Stanley’s sleeping as well. After that Architeuthis, he perhaps had one too many… Pitt Colas.”

“I never liked the stuff,” said Pacifica, with a chuckle.

“Neither did I. Pure water for me,” continued Ford. “But I’ll let you get back to your own adventure. I need to turn in as well. And whatever you do, don’t let Mabel drive. Have fun, and tell Dipper to rest!” With that, the connection clicked off.

“Mabel, why would Ford say that?” asked Pacifica, worried as she tucked the Weslee back into Dipper’s coat.

“No reason you need to know about,” grinned Mabel. “Listen, I’ve got this. You two just rest. You’ll need the energy, one way or the other.”

Pacifica snorted as she leaned up against the window. The first stars were beginning to pepper the sky, but she was focused far more on the stars on Dipper’s head. One hand was in his hair, and the other on his heart, feeling his steady pulse and his chest rise and fall. She stayed awake as he slept, a gentle smile growing on both of their faces.


	9. Pillows

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake,” said Mabel, sitting underneath a single yellow lamp. Dipper opened his eyes blearily and looked around, trying to gain a sense of his surroundings.

He appeared to be inside of a motel room—an empty television on a dresser sat across from him, along with a single rickety desk and a rolling chair. Some of the walls had scuff marks on them, causing him to suspect that Mabel had been pushing herself around in the chair before he woke up. The bed was queen sized and covered in white sheets—they weren’t that soft, but they were thick enough to be comfortable. Pillows were piled around him, and his head was propped up on two of them.

The curtains and lampshades were a jarring pattern, crisscrossed with colors that would have been more appropriate in the seventies. Though, given the shag carpet on the floor, it was entirely possible that they were that old. Through the curtains, Dipper could see out into the night—his window overlooked a parking lot, the window streaked with rain. He could see neon signs in the distance, and lights illuminating a bridge that seemed to arc high above the town.

Mabel was sitting in the chair under a lamp, playing a game on her phone. She was now wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt with a flower on it, her hair hanging limp around her shoulders. She had been waiting for Dipper to wake up.

“Where are we?” stuttered Dipper, trying to prop himself up in bed, but wincing as the bandages on his leg were pulled by the sheets. He flung back the sheets to look at his leg—there was a faint red stain on the gauze, but everything seemed to be mostly intact.

“Astoria, right where we were going,” said Mabel. “I would hope that you’d have enough confidence in my ability to get us here.”

“You drove Francine?” said Dipper, aghast.

“You named your truck Francine?” snorted Mabel.

“She’s a classy lady,” defended Dipper. “Unlike some people.”

“Same genes, brother,” said Mabel, standing up and stretching. “Anyway, I’m going to go to bed. I stayed up late enough watching you.”

“Wait,” said Dipper, readjusting the pillows to sit upright. “Tell me what happened.”

“How much do you remember?” asked Mabel, turning her lamp off and then leaning against the wall.

“The last thing I know was Pacifica throwing that thing into the rift after I got stabbed like an idiot,” Dipper said. Suddenly, his face was electrified. “Where’s Pacifica?”

“Relax, Dip,” said Mabel, gesturing as she did so. “She’s in the room next to mine. It’d be weird if she was the one watching you sleep.” Dipper would have blushed, had he not lost so much blood. “Anyway, you passed out and then Pacifica cleaned and sewed up your leg while I glued the rift shut. After that, we brought you back to the truck and I drove us here. Pacifica already had our reservations, so we were able to head right to our rooms without any questions asked.”

“Maybe not from the staff here, but I have questions for you,” said Dipper, trying to fumble for his notebook but unable to find it. “We need to record what happened with that deer thing.”

“The dyre?” asked Mabel. “Sure, but we can do that in the morning. Right now, I need to rest, and so do you.”

“Dyre?” asked Dipper. “Who called it that?”

“You did,” said Mabel incredulously. “You forgot the name you gave it?”

“Adrenaline,” shrugged Dipper, unable to provide an answer.

“You need more sugar,” prescribed Mabel as she turned to open the door. “Look—you’ve got the remote if you want to watch TV, and your notepad and pen are in the bedside drawer. I think the actual journal is still in your luggage. Just try to stay off that leg.”

“Good night Mabel,” said Dipper, waving at her. “And thanks.”

“No problem, bro,” she winked back at him. “Mabel gets to save the day sometimes.” The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Dipper alone with the lights outside and the single lamp by the bed. A light drizzle continued to patter against the window.

The rain was reassuring, in some way. He laid back in bed and closed his eyes, staring at the back of his eyelids. He tried to relive everything that he could remember—how things were going so well, and then went off the rails so quickly. And how gone he would have been if Pacifica and Mabel hadn’t been there to save him—but then again, he had also saved Mabel. He considered that a fair trade, but he would need to thank Pacifica more profusely.

He lay there for about ten minutes before he realized that he was never going to be able to go to sleep like this. He was still exhausted, but his mind was racing and he needed to get the static out of his head as best he could. He gently lifted the covers off of himself and swung his legs over the side.

Something interesting struck him then—he was wearing different clothes than he had been earlier. The trench coat was draped over the desk chair, but his bloody jeans were nowhere to be found. Instead, he was wearing a white t-shirt and pair of gym shorts. He hoped that Pacifica hadn’t been the one who had to change him—but the alternative to her was Mabel, and that still wasn’t great.

Dipper winced as he tested his weight on his injured leg, feeling the pressure gently stretch the stitches. They seemed to be holding well, though—Pacifica had done a good job. He slowly stood up and started to limp to the bathroom. It had been a long time since he had last been able to relieve himself.

As he washed his hands afterwards, he looked at himself in the mirror. He had bags under his eyes, and there were still bits of leaves and sticks in his hair. He splashed cold water into his face—a shower would be nice, but he didn’t want to mess with his bandages quite yet. He was dirty, yes, but he smelled better than he had expected. A little like lavender.

He then hobbled over to his suitcase and found the brown waterproof case that he kept his personal journal in. It wasn’t as fancy or as shiny as Ford’s—simple paper in a simple binding, but emblazoned on the cover was a gold pine tree with the letter A. Dipper had been reticent to fully copy Ford, so this seemed like a good compromise. The pages in the first half of the book were thick and crinkled, while the others were tightly pressed and pristine. It took Ford about four years to fill each journal, so Dipper was only about halfway done with his first one.

Dipper tossed the journal onto the bed, and drew out a pencil case that had charcoal, pens, and pencils with special lead in them. A UV pen was in there as well, but there weren’t any secrets about the dyre that he needed to add. Not any that he knew of, at least.

He then returned to bed, leaning against the headboard and opening to a fresh page—the dyre was a much scarier creature than the previous fairy-mermaid hybrids he had encountered.

“The Dyre,” Dipper wrote as he whispered to himself. “Origin, unknown. Accessed by an orange rift with flammable red liquid. Will scape flesh off of its bones to walk on sharpened leg spikes. Can climb trees if angry. Moves faster than you’d think. Spontaneous tooth growth under skin around head, causing spontaneous eruption of skull. Basically a deer zombie, with a lot more Cronenberg. Danger level… six out of ten. Be careful, don’t deal with more than one at a time, and have the right tools. Otherwise, run. It will likely decompose on its own.”

With the text down, Dipper started to sketch it. He was unsure of the best way to represent it, since it had looked so many different ways over the course of their encounter. He drew an arch for its back, only to erase it. He did it again. Then, just as he was about to erase it the third time, he heard a gentle knock at the door.

Dipper didn’t know who it was, so he dragged himself out of bed and crept over to the door as quietly and as lowly as he could, wincing all the while. He lifted himself to peephole, and was surprised to see Pacifica. She seemed cold.

He opened the door and immediately jumped back in shock, causing his leg to twitch and for him to fall back onto the bed with a grunt and a grimace.

“Jesus,” said Pacifica as she walked into the room and clicked the door shut behind her, leaning against it as she did so. “It’s just me. I’m not that scary, am I?”

“No,” said Dipper, following her with his eyes in amazement as she walked to the window and pulled the garish curtain closed. “I just didn’t know that you wore glasses.”

“Oh,” said Pacifica, touching them self-consciously before turning around. “I guess you never have seen them, have you? I usually wear contacts.”

She turned to face Dipper, who had pulled himself back onto the bed and was laying on top of the covers. Her hair was still slightly wet from a shower, and it hung loosely down her back. She wore a long t-shirt with the logo of the Northwest Mud Flap company on it—something she wouldn’t and couldn’t be caught dead in in public. The hemline of her shorts barely stretched past that of the shirt, leaving her legs exposed from the thigh down to her bare feet. The glasses themselves were made of a pale pink plastic which was almost as tough as metal, and which Dipper was certain was very expensive—they were rounded on the bottom, but the tops were shaped like half of a hexagon. The lenses were thicker than Dipper would have thought.

He swallowed. “What brings you here now?” he said, gesturing at the window. “And why weren’t you wearing shoes? It’s cold outside.”

“I know,” said Pacifica, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Look, I had a nightmare. I wanted to come and make sure you were safe.”

“What was it about?” said Dipper, lowering his voice into as gentle a tone as he could bring it.

“Can I sit down?” asked Pacifica, also swallowing as she gestured at the bed.

“S-sure,” said Dipper, twisting as he closed the journal and slipped the pencils and pens which were strewn across the bed back into the pouch. There were a few stray ink stains on the white covers, but he doubted that anyone would pay enough attention to notice.

Pacifica haltingly walked to the other side of the bed before turning and sitting down. She placed her back against the headboard with Dipper’s, about a two feet away from him, and drew her knees up to her chin. She slipped her exposed feet beneath the covers and shivered.

“I dreamed that I wasn’t able to get to you before that… thing stabbed you again,” she said, taking as much care as she could to keep her breathing under control. “It was so scary, and so close to you, and I just couldn’t stop it.” She dropped her head, looking down.

“You did get to me in time, though,” said Dipper, very uncertain of what to do. He was acutely aware of Pacifica next to him, and every nerve in his body was electric. She seemed to want, to need, a hug, but they were also lying in bed in their pajamas. It was a dream and a nightmare all rolled into one. “And not only did you get to me in time,” he said, slowly feeling his confidence grow as he formulated a plan, “but you kicked its ass. Or, what was left of its ass, anyway.”

“Only because of those gloves,” said Pacifica, sniffling as she looked up.

“The gloves don’t make you stronger,” said Dipper as he reached for the journal, which he had set on his bedside table. “You pulling that thing off of me and throwing it like an Amazon was all you.” Pacifica smiled. “But look at this,” said Dipper, leaning over to her. “As scary as it was, it’s much less scary when we know about it and what it can do.”

“The Dyre,” said Pacifica, reading what Dipper had written about it. As she got to the end of the paragraph, she noticed Dipper reaching for a thicker pen with a tiny lightbulb on one end.

“Let me add something right quick,” said Dipper as he began scratching on the paper with the felt tip of the pen—there was no visible ink at all. Pacifica looked from him to the paper, wondering if he had truly lost it, before he snapped the cap back on and glanced at Pacifica with a grin. He turned the pen around and shined a blue light onto the paper.

“Can also be defeated,” Pacifica read aloud—the handwriting was a little messier than Dipper’s normally was. “By a badass blonde filled with rightful fury and the spirit of vengeance."

Pacifica grinned as roses bloomed on her cheeks. "That's not going to be helpful if anyone needs to fight off those things again," she smirked.

“Well, that’s part of why it’s a secret,” said Dipper, clicking the pen off. “No one has to know but you and me. And also Mabel, I guess.”

“I suppose she can know,” said Pacifica, crinkling her nose. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the beginning sketch of the dyre.

“Oh,” said Dipper. Now it was his turn to blush. “I was trying to draw the thing,” he said, going to put his pen away. “But I’m not very good at sketches. Not as good as Ford, at least.”

“Come on, try again. Let me see what you’ve got,” chided Pacifica.

“It’s going to be embarrassing,” defended Dipper.

“Like me crying to you over a nightmare isn’t embarrassing,” she fired back. “You owe me.” She poked a finger into his chest.

“Fine,” said Dipper, reaching back for his pencil case. “But I make no promises.”

Dipper drew out a fine tipped pencil and finished tracing the back of the dyre. He then roughly sketched the muscles of its hindquarters with fast and blurry strokes before turning to a smaller pen to draw in the details of the exposed bones and joints of its rear legs.

As he drew, Pacifica leaned over to him, getting closer and closer until he could practically feel her breath. The cloth of her shirt was scraping against his arm. He kept making mistakes in his sketch because he couldn’t draw his eyes away from her eager face, and the scent of lavender drifting from her hair.

“You know,” said Dipper, trying to be confident and partially succeeding— “if you want a better look, all you have to do is ask.” With that, Pacifica leaned back in surprise as he scooted over to sit closer next to her, her thigh pressed against his. She crossed her legs and sat up straight as Dipper readjusted his injured leg, wincing as he did so.

“You shouldn’t be moving so much,” she said, though her heart leaped into her throat. She was certain that Dipper could hear the thunder of her pulse.

“You looked uncomfortable leaning over like that,” said Dipper as he continued to sketch. Pacifica glanced from him, to the page, and back again before dropping her head onto his shoulder. She heard his breath hitch as she did so, but he kept sketching.

Neither of them moved for fifteen minutes, until Dipper added the finishing strokes to his illustration and moved, causing Pacifica to lift her head.

“That’s the best I can do,” he said, holding the journal so Pacifica could see in the dim lighting. She looked it up and down.

“It’s not bad,” said Pacifica, examining it with an eye that had critiqued European master paintings. “It just needs a little polish. Hand it here.”

She took the journal and a pencil from Dipper’s dumbfounded hands and sat up, holding the book in her lap. With a delicate touch, she began to add shading and crosshatching to the drawing, seeming to pull it off the page. Now Dipper began to lean over her, amazed at her artistic ability.

“You know,” she said, smirking as she scooted to more fully rest against Dipper’s torso, “all you have to do is ask.” Dipper froze for a moment, but then relaxed into her. Pacifica tried to hide a smile, though she didn’t know why she bothered.

“There you go,” she said, handing the journal back to Dipper.

“Wow,” he said as he brought the page up to his eyes and closely examined the illustration. “That’s amazing. Is there anything that you can’t do?”

“Lots of things,” said Pacifica, checking her nails. “Today has just been a good day for private school skills.”

“Still,” said Dipper, “it puts my earlier sketches to shame." He held up the first entry in the journal so Pacifica could see, a crude sketch of a fish with an eye in the center of its forehead. Pacifica stifled a laugh.

Dipper was about to close the journal when he handed it back to Pacifica, along with a pen.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to the newly completed page. “You helped with the sketch, so you should sign it.”

“You want me to sign your journal?” said Pacifica, strangely flattered as she took the pen.

“It’s important to get proper credit for your work,” stammered Dipper as Pacifica added the final flourishes to her perfectly penned name.

“It’s better than a crummy yearbook,” said Pacifica as Dipper closed the journal and set it on the bedside table, then returned to his position against her. It seemed that the two of them then fully realized exactly how close they were to each other. Each of them made subtle movements to pull away, but neither of them meant it.

“What now?” said Dipper, his breath scraping past Pacifica’s cheek. “I mean, we should sleep. I should sleep.”

“I should sleep too,” said Pacifica sadly as she stood up. Dipper moved his hand to where she had just been.

“But.” She said this facing away from Dipper, her eyes closed. “I really don’t want to be alone right now. Do you think I could stay here?”

“Sure,” Dipper practically gasped out. He tried to sound normal. “We can watch TV, or I can show you other stuff in the journal. I think I remember seeing something about a new _Ghost Harassers,_ even if the show has gotten a little commercial over the past two seasons. The Arby’s ghost was weird.”

“No, we both need the rest,” said Pacifica, sitting back on the bed and turning around to Dipper. “I think we should try and sleep.”

“Sleep?” choked Dipper.

“Sleep,” said Pacifica, before adding for emphasis, “sleep-sleep.”

“Wouldn’t that be a bit… awkward?” said Dipper as Pacifica flipped the covers back and sank beneath them, already convinced of what she would be doing. “I mean, given my leg, and the fact that we’re not… a thing.”

“Are we not a thing?” asked Pacifica, turning to look at Dipper with a sparkle in her eyes. Dipper paused.

“I don’t think we are,” he said, stuttering as he did so. Pacifica’s face fell and she closed her eyes, turning away from Dipper.

“Look, Mason,” she began. Dipper winced. “If you’re worried about me accidentally rubbing against your leg, in one way or another, you can sleep on top of the covers. As for now, I’m staying right here. This bed is already too warm to leave.”

“Pacifica,” said Dipper, causing her breathing to speed up. Maybe getting stabbed in the leg had opened his eyes. “I’m scared.”

“I’m scared too,” said Pacifica, lying down and facing away from him. “I almost saw you die today.”

“It’s a different kind of scared,” said Dipper. “I want this. I really want this, and I hope you want this too. Mabel’s told me that you want this.”

 _Mabel,_ Pacifica thought to herself. _I confided in her. Of course she was working as a double agent the entire time._

“But,” Dipper continued, “we’re so young. And we have so little time together. I’m leaving Gravity Falls after this weekend, and you’re going back to your fancy private school. Your dad hates me; he’s not going to let this happen. And we’re too young to just be on our own. And I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about girls. I mean, I like them. I like you… specifically. But what if I do the wrong thing? Is it even worth trying? I mean, have you looked at the statistics about how many relationships at this stage fail? All of them! One hundred percent! And ninety percent of those are just Mabel.” He paused to take a breath.

“I just… don’t want to ruin what it is we already have,” he finished, looking over at her. He hoped she wasn’t already asleep.

Pacifica wanted to argue against him. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but the problem was that he was right about _everything_. Her dad didn’t like him at all. Relationships like this did fail. This one might end too. They spent most of the year apart, and who knows what could wind up happening? Dipper was growing, and so was Pacifica. What if they changed? And he was, more than anything, right about Pacifica wanting this. Even with the risks.

“I can’t change the odds,” she said, tentatively. “Let me tell you that I want this too, unambiguously. But I can’t make you choose to take this leap. I don’t want to make you. I want you to want me enough to risk it.”

The room fell silent.

“But as for now,” said Pacifica with a yawn. “I am very tired because you almost gave me a heart attack today, and I need to sleep. Wake me up in the morning.” And with that, she steadied her breathing and acted very much as if she was asleep. But her heart was racing too much to rest. Eventually, Dipper started moving in silence.

He lifted up the covers, and Pacifica felt every pillow as it scraped down her back and her exposed legs, creating a wall between the two of them. She could feel the tears already welling up in her eyes when she turned and buried her face in the covers, hiding from Dipper.

However, she felt a strange shaft of illumination on her eyes. She opened them, and could see the fluorescent glow of the streetlights through a tiny gap in the pillows, through the thin sheet that Dipper had pulled over himself, and through the merest crack in the garish curtains.

Tentatively, she lifted her right hand and stuck it through the gap in the pillows, over onto Dipper’s side of the bed. She was hesitant to touch him, but didn’t have to before his hand found hers, swallowing her delicate fingers as they interlaced. She gave him a squeeze as a single tear fell, entirely different now. He squeezed back.

Soon, Dipper’s light clicked off, and he too laid down. Pacifica’s heart rate finally calmed and her breathing grew slow and steady, her hand still held in Dipper’s. There was a crack.


	10. Truss

Pacifica shot awake to a pounding on the door.

“Dipper!” shouted Mabel from outside, “I left my copy of your room key with you last night! Also Pacifica’s missing!”

“Ughh,” groaned Dipper as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. Pacifica’s eyes grew wide as she saw him in the early morning light—he was shirtless. There were the wispy beginnings of chest hair that Mabel and Stan had mocked him for, but there was also a crisscrossing web of scars—some old, some new. He didn’t have abs, but his body was toned enough to be impressive. She quickly turned away, only to realize that her hand was still ensconced in Dipper’s, and that she was having trouble moving.

Dipper seemed to realize the same as he sat up and realized what was going on. He and Pacifica had, in their sleep, snuggled so closely up against the pillow wall that they had created a depression in the bed that it was tough to get out of. Pacifica grunted as she vaulted out of it, and stood woozily as the blood caught up with her brain.

“Shit,” was her first word, as she realized that this meant Mabel was going to catch them in bed together, and would undeniably leap to conclusions. She was also slightly offended that Mabel had thought that her misplacing her key was a bigger problem that her supposed abduction. Dipper was rubbing his head, trying to wake up, so she decided to head Mabel off as best she could.

She walked to the door as Dipper followed her with his eyes, wincing as he started to get out of bed. He quickly pulled his shirt on and began to test his weight on his leg. It still wasn’t completely whole by any means, but he was able to stand and move around with less difficulty.

Pacifica made sure that she had her key in her pocket as she opened the door to the outside. She squinted as a wave of sunlight rushed in, blinding her, but she could see enough to notice Mabel’s jaw drop. Pacifica didn’t say a word as she stepped outside and headed to her room to freshen up.

* * *

“Who was that?!?” screamed Mabel as she leapt into Dipper’s room and closed the door behind her.

“It was Pacifica. Who do you think it was?” said Dipper, already sighing as he tucked the journal and pencil case back into his suitcase, and pulled out a fresh set of clothes.

“I know it was Pacifica!” said Mabel excitedly. “Why was she in here? Did you have some fun last night?”

“Things were perfectly… platonic,” said Dipper, disappointed and thoughtful. “She had a nightmare and came over and we just… fell asleep.”

“That makes more sense,” said Mabel, sad that they apparently hadn’t made any moves. “But I guess that’s good news,” she smirked. “If you were having fun, you were both being really quiet—which means you must not be very good at it.” Dipper threw a crumpled up sock at her, which she batted away like a ninja.

“We did talk about some things,” said Dipper, only half to Mabel—he was mostly speaking with himself. He returned to the bed and began to unwrap the bandage around his leg.

“Yuck,” said Mabel, as the wound was exposed. It was pink and swollen, but the stitches were still perfectly in place, and the blood had completely clotted over. All that there was for Dipper to do was apply more antibacterial cream and then a fresh bandage, which he did with the kind of skill that only came from experience.

“What things did you talk about?” said Mabel, spinning the desk chair around before sitting down and clasping her hands like a psychologist.

“I think she really wants this,” Dipper began before stopping and correcting himself. “No, I know she wants to us both to be together. Unambiguously. But we’re leaving soon, and I don’t want to abandon her just as soon as we become a thing.”

“Dipper, she’s been hanging out with you for the past three years when you _haven’t_ been a thing. She sends you letters. In the _mail_. Who does that? She’s definitely not going to just move on once you make it official. Plus, she knows you have to leave and she still wants this. She knows what she wants. Do you?” said Mabel, proud of her profound speech.

“I think I do,” began Dipper before Mabel cut him off.

“Nonononono,” she said, sputtering. “It’s not about what you think. It’s about what you know. What you feel. What is.”

“I feel,” Dipper began, earning a nod of approval from Mabel. “That I don’t want to get my heart broken by someone as fantastic as her.”

“It’s official,” said Mabel, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless. That’s not going to happen. You just have to get that possibility out of your head.”

“It’s always there, though,” groaned Dipper as he stepped into the bathroom to put on a fresh set of clothes.

“Reason with it, then,” said Mabel from behind the door. “You know the statistics that other people have, but what about your statistics? Every set of numbers has that one weird one off to the side. And you’re pretty weird.”

“I’ve tried to do the math,” sighed Dipper, stepping out of the bathroom.

“Try again,” chirped Mabel. “And take into account whatever it was Pacifica told you last night, because if I’m being honest, you look like you had the best night of sleep you’ve had in a long time.” Dipper chuckled and looked in the mirror. Maybe she was right. His forehead did seem a bit clearer, his constellation more distinct.

“And if that doesn’t work, maybe you can drink your pain away,” said Mabel, walking to the door.

“Mabel, we’re sixteen,” chided Dipper.

“Not with booze, dipstick,” she said, grinning. “I know we’re not old enough for Mabel Juice 3.0 yet. Just with normal Mabel Juice 2.0.”

“Is this your way of telling me that you want coffee?” asked Dipper, shaking his head.

“Maybe. Pacifica and I saw a cute little coffee shop on the way in last night. I’ll go get my suitcase and we’ll get going.”

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” said Dipper, pulling his shoes on. He stood up and zipped up his suitcase, double checking that his journal was inside. He plopped it on the ground and pulled the handle out, wheeling it to the door. He then turned around and grabbed his trench coat off of the office chair, putting it on and reveling in its protective scent and reassuring weight. He gave one last look around the room before stepping outside onto the balcony overlooking Astoria.

The air was cool and wet, with puddles staining the parking lot. The sky was overcast, but the clouds appeared to break to the north, which is exactly where they were headed. The Jukebox the Ghost concert started in Seattle at seven that evening, and they wanted to get checked into their hotel room before that so they wouldn’t have to worry about their luggage.

Dipper turned to the left to take the stairs down to his truck, and saw Pacifica stepping out of the room two doors down. She was wearing black leggings accompanied by a new pair of boots—not as new as the ones from yesterday, but no less fashionable. The fur that lined her navy jacket was only a few shades lighter than her hair.

As Pacifica looked up at Dipper, he could see every emotion range across her face in the span of a few seconds. Anger at him for not being decisive, pity for both herself and him, happiness at the fact that they had spent the last night in the same bed and that he was still here, and the stolidity that she felt she needed to show to give Dipper his space, as well as keep the other emotions from bursting through.

“Good morning,” said Dipper, pulling his keys out of the trench coat pocket—Mabel had been thoughtful enough to return them after last night. 

“Good morning,” Pacifica replied, politely. Dipper could almost sense her beginning a curtsy out of sheer instinct, but she was able to control the reflex. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Umm… better than I have in a while,” said Dipper, smiling and lightly blushing. He scratched his head out of nervousness. Pacifica was silent.

“Me too,” she said, curtly, before heading for the stairs.

“Now or never, bro,” said Mabel as she approached Dipper from behind and walked past him.

“Let’s at least make it to Seattle first,” whispered Dipper to himself as he too walked down the stairs. He was much slower than the girls, trying as best he could to keep unnecessary pressure off of his leg. Both of them were standing impatiently beside the truck when he finally got there.

“Are you going to be wearing that filthy trench coat all the way to Seattle?” asked Pacifica as Dipper unlocked the truck and began to load the suitcases into the bed.

“I’ll put it away,” he said, grunting as he pulled himself into the bed and began the long process of unlocking the toolbox. “Speaking of which, what did you do with all the stuff from yesterday?”

“It’s here in the back,” said Mabel, reaching in and pulling out the girls’ coats and the guns before handing them to Dipper. Dipper looked everything over before he added it to the toolbox, brushing off any dirt and grime. For the glue gun, he detached the glass tank that held the adhesive and stowed it away before snapping a new one into its place. He also transferred the Weslee III from the trench coat into his fleece jacket where he normally kept it. He closed the toolbox and dropped onto the ground, closing the bed and walking to the driver’s seat before pulling himself in with a groan.

“Are you sure you’re up for driving with that leg?” asked Pacifica as she opened the passenger door.

“I’ll be fine,” replied Dipper. “It’s my left leg that got hit. I’ll manage.” Pacifica shook her head and was about to get into the truck when Mabel vaulted into the shotgun seat in front of her. She grabbed the lever and lifted the center console, turning the front into a bench seat.

“Mabel, what are you doing?” sighed Dipper as she wedged herself into the narrow seat and fastened the seatbelt. Thankfully, she didn’t have much in the way of hips.

“It’s the day of the concert, Dipper!” she said far too loudly as Pacifica, accepting her fate, shrugged and stepped into the passenger seat. “We’ve got to get pumped up, and I can only sing with you guys a little bit from the back. Now we get to sing together!”

“Mabel!” continued Dipper, now in more of a panic. “We listened to that CD five times yesterday. I don’t want to hear it again. I already have all the lyrics memorized.”

“That’s why we’re listening to Volume TWO!” shouted Mabel, reaching into her sweater to pull out a fresh CD. Dipper simply sighed, shifted the truck into gear, and began to creep out of the parking lot. Soon, they were rolling down the highway as Mabel continued to belt out songs that neither Dipper nor Pacifica had heard before.

* * *

The truck revved its engine as it ascended a massive roundabout to reach the bridge that crossed the Columbia River into Washington State. It was a truly impressive bridge, and Pacifica was far more focused on it than she was the music.

“Washington!” added Mabel as they finally reached land on the opposite side of the river. “America’s first true prince!”

“That’s not… whatever,” said Pacifica, sighing and smiling.

“Sorry, ‘president,’” said Mabel with air quotes. “He wanted to be a prince. Quentin Trembley wouldn’t have lied about that.”

“You know, when you freed him from the peanut brittle and found out that my entire family was made up of criminals and fraudsters, you could have just not told me,” said Pacifica, addressing the question to the entire cabin. “Why did you bother? I would have just kept going in my life, untroubled. I would have been a perfect princess.”

“Because then you wouldn’t be Pacifica!” said Mabel, leaning and bouncing back and forth between Dipper and Pacifica. “You would be ‘Pacifica Northwest, heiress to the Northwest family fortune.’ And also really snobby and sad inside.”

“That’s true,” said Pacifica, reflecting on how that one incident had entirely changed the trajectory of her life. It had struck the first cracks into how she thought of herself and her family.

“And also you had been really mean to Mabel,” said Dipper, shrugging. “I wanted to get revenge.”

“It’s amazing what a single decisive moment can do,” added Pacifica, looking out at the trees. It was both a comment on the cover-up and Dipper’s conduct, but she didn’t look at him to see if he got it. “Thank you for doing it, though. I just yelled at you at the time. But retrospect really sheds a new light on things.”

“It does,” said Mabel, looking back and forth between the boy on her left, and the girl on her right. “Destiny is weird. Except when Mabel does Destiny’s job for her.”

Mabel looked straight ahead as Pacifica and Dipper both looked at her. They made eye contact—to each of them it was a threat of Mabel putting them together, but neither knew the other knew. Their eyes returned to the road as they continued on.

For about an hour, there was light conversation, lots of repetitive music, and one instance when Pacifica threatened to throw Mabel’s mixtape out of the window if she didn’t stop singing off-key. All it took was Pacifica singing on-key for a couple of lines to get her to quiet down.


	11. Claw

“What’s our next turn, Pacifica?” asked Dipper as she fumbled with the map. The cabin was silent, Dipper and Pacifica having finally forced Mabel to turn the music off after the sixth loop. Mabel had also asked to take over navigation duties at one point, but after a wrong turn that cost them thirty minutes, Pacifica took the map back. Mabel was currently playing a game on her phone and sucking on a lollipop that she had produced from inside the recesses of her sweater.

“I disagree with this decision,” she prefaced, “but we’ll be taking a left in about ten miles, which will put us straight towards the Tacoma-Narrows Bridge. Now granted,” she continued, “you were right about the coastal route being more scenic. But I don’t get why we need to drive on the wrong side of Puget Sound just to take a ferry across to Seattle when we could just head there directly.”

“The ferry’s pretty,” said Mabel, switching the cheek the lollipop was in.

“I actually agree with you on this,” said Dipper, cocking his head to the side. “In addition to being pretty, it’s also absurdly windy and absurdly cold, even at this time of year. I like the outdoors as much as anybody, but there are limits.”

“Baby,” chastised Mabel before falling silent again. Pacifica was opening her mouth to speak when a light buzz began to reverberate through the cabin.

“What’s that?” Pacifica asked, hoping the wheels weren’t about to fall off of Dipper’s new used truck.

“That,” Dipper sighed, “is the sound the Weslee makes when you turn the alarm down.”

“Well, thanks for turning the siren off, but why is it going off at all?” asked Pacifica, her trepidation starting to build at the prospect of encountering another dyre—or perhaps something worse.

“I don’t know yet,” said Dipper, moving the truck into the right lane. “Let me pull off at the next exit and I’ll take a look.”

They soon found a gas station, where Dipper pulled in and began to refill the truck. There were still three quarters of the tank left, but he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to top it off. As he stood outside, he leaned in through the window and tapped away at the Weslee, his eyes scanning the rows and columns of numbers as he picked through for the relevant data.

“It looks like we’ve got another sustained rift,” he said, grimacing.

“What the hell?” asked Pacifica, grumbling. “It’s like fate doesn’t want us to get to Seattle.”

“Fate might not, but destiny does,” chimed in Mabel.

“It looks like it’s about fifteen miles behind us,” said Dipper. “If we’re only picking it up now, that means it must have just opened. Plus, according to the numbers on this, it looks like it’s only about two feet long. Not big enough for anything too frightening to get through.”

“What happens if we just leave it?” asked Pacifica, not wanting to get thrown off schedule too badly. They had a limited time window to catch the ferry in if they wanted to make it to Seattle on time.

“It could get bigger, something could come through, or someone could find it. Nothing good—and it’s not liable to disappear on its own either. Once the rift gets bigger than a foot, it’s generally self-sustaining,” grimaced Dipper. Now that they were back around people and away from the coast, he had service on his phone and was already tapping away on it, trying to figure out how much time it would cost them to go and seal it.

“Let’s go do it,” said Mabel, not looking up from her phone. “We kicked the last thing’s butt. Let’s do it again.”

“The last thing also kicked Dipper’s leg’s butt,” argued Pacifica, not wanting to put any of them in any more danger than they had to be. She looked up at Dipper, though, and found him looking back into her eyes. He wasn’t going to be able to relax unless this problem was resolved, and if it was only two feet, they probably could seal it away pretty easily. “But if you let me take point this time,” she sighed, “I suppose we can go get it.”

“It’ll only cost us forty-five minutes,” said Dipper as his face broke into a smile. “We can catch the next ferry and still make it in plenty of time.”

“We’d better,” said Pacifica as Dipper closed the gas cap and returned to the driver’s seat. “Or I’m going to be extremely mad at both of you.”

“I’ll try my best,” said Dipper as he shifted the truck into gear.

He effortlessly pulled back onto the road and drove south, handing the Weslee off to Pacifica after giving her a crash course in how to read the numbers that were displayed on it—they had to get to within a certain range of the rift before the radar function would be of any use. The numbers ticked down as Pacifica fought a battle within herself—eager to solve the problem, but frightened because of what it had brought last time.

In but a short time, Dipper turned off onto a side road into a suburban neighborhood. It appeared as though this rift was not as far away from civilization as the other one was, which meant that it was probably a good idea to go ahead and close it. Pacifica typed in a code as Dipper read it out to her—the screen on the Weslee went dark before lighting back up, this time with the concentric circles of the radar. The single blinking dot appeared to be about a thousand feet in front of them, at the end of a cul-de-sac.

“There,” said Pacifica, pointing at a house that had seen better days. The rest of the neighborhood appeared lived in, but this one had paint peeling off of it, and the bushes in front were sending vines spiraling up and through the windows. Dipper pulled over in front of it, turning the truck off before leaning over the wheel and sizing up the house.

“I’m going to guess that it’s abandoned,” he said confidently. “Or at least, I hope it is.” He and the girls stepped outside and stretched their legs while Dipper went through the process of opening the toolbox and handing out the trench coats. He gave the magnet gun to Mabel, but this time, he took the electric gloves while he gave the glue gun to Pacifica.

“You want me to glue it shut?” said Pacifica, turning the gun over in her hands and examining it. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” said Dipper, struggling to put the gloves on. “Mabel and I have done it, and it’s only fair that you do it too. Plus, it’s a good skill to have. You never know where the next rift might pop up. And here,” said Dipper, handing her another glass case of the glue. “It’s only a small tear, but it’s good to have extra ammo if you need it. Pacifica slipped the case into one of her jacket pockets, figuring that she could reach it faster there than she could if she had put it in her trench coat.

“Now,” said Dipper as he closed the toolbox and locked the truck before pulling the Weslee out. “Let’s go get this thing.”

True to his word, he let Pacifica take point, leading the way as the trio advanced up the creaky front steps of the house. He struggled to even make it up the stairs, making Pacifica think that it was probably a good thing she had the glue gun this time. The door, spookily, was unlocked.

“It’s only ten feet past the front door,” said Dipper as Pacifica creaked it open, shedding light into the foyer, turning up dust and tearing apart cobwebs that had been there for months, at least.

The inside of the house was still populated with furniture, and it all smelled old. The walls were stripped bare, and there were faded patches where paintings must once have hung. All of the kitchen appliances had been disconnected and pulled away from the wall so there wouldn’t be any leaks or fires—perhaps the people had intended to move back in when they left. The oven had been dragged all the way into the living room. Pacifica shuddered as she saw a shadow scurry across the floor, though she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the rift.

Indeed, it was right there behind the door. They wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of going door by door to try and find it. Plus, the rift itself was blue, which she deduced meant that it led to a different dimension than the one that the dyre came from. The only disconcerting part about it was the red bulge that was protruding through the hole.

“What is that?” she asked as she turned the glue gun on its side, beginning the process of warming it up. She didn’t want to spend any more time here than necessary.

“I have no idea,” said Dipper, as he stumbled towards it. Mabel, magnet gun at the ready, was standing with her back to the rift and facing out the front door, making sure that no one, and no thing, was approaching them from behind. He tucked the Weslee into his coat and stepped forward, tentatively raising a hand. Pacifica held the glue gun at the ready as his fingers made contact.

“It’s strangely smooth. And warm,” said Dipper, lightly tapping on it. “I kind of want to take a sample of it. Perhaps the rift opened underground in the other dimension, and this is a rock spilling through.”

As good of a guess as it was, it was quickly disconfirmed when a chittering, chattering sound echoed through the portal. The red bulge began to grow, though it could only get so far before it was held back by the dimensional fabric.

“Or, it could be something alive that’s trying to get in,” said Dipper, backpedaling quickly. “We need to get it back through before we close the rift,” he said, grabbing a dusty metal floor lamp behind him. “Pacifica, I’ll try to push it back through with this, and you close it as I go.”

“Just be careful,” chided Pacifica as Dipper placed the end of the post against the bulge and began to push. He was visibly straining, sweat beading on his brow as he struggled to force it back. Whatever was on the other side was big, and it did not want to move. Suddenly, with a crack, Dipper fell forwards.

The lamppost had penetrated the bulge, sending shards of what appeared to be a keratinous red shell all over the floor. The lamppost continued on, burying itself in the soft white meat that lay behind the shell. The creature screamed, a wet chattering. It wasn’t as gruesome and throaty as the dyre. Instead of pulling back, however, the beast continued to push in.

“Give up already,” groaned Dipper as he braced himself. “You’re the only one getting hurt here.” Dipper’s eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. He squeezed his hands together, and the electric gloves flared to life. The voltage from his fingertips coursed up the metal pole and into the flesh of the creature, causing it to shriek again. The Weslee from inside his jacket chirped, and Dipper’s eyes grew wide.

The rift suddenly grew, the dimensional fabric tearing even more as a result of both the beast’s pressure and the additional electrical energy that Dipper had just poured into it. It was enough for the monster to take advantage of.

With a shriek, the cracked red shell emerged into the room, revealing itself to be only one part of a very long arm, with a wicked claw attached to the end of it. Through the gap, Pacifica could see what appeared to be a massive crustacean, some kind of thirty-foot crab. Only its injured claw could reach through the rift, but it was more than long enough to reach Dipper.

Dipper, pushed back by the pressure of the claw, turned as he fell to the floor. The claw, plunging down, fell squarely between his legs and grabbed the cloth of his trench coat. The crab pulled back, attempting to lift him up and drag him through the rift. 

“Mabel!” Dipper screamed as he was lifted off the wood floor. “Give me the gun!” Mabel, spinning around in a flash, ran two steps before throwing the magnet gun on the ground next to Dipper’s hands.

He quickly grabbed the gun and, spinning around, pointed it at the discarded and rusted oven in the living room. A blue pulse of light shot out and attached to the metal, anchoring him as his arms strained to pull himself forwards against the power of the claw. He turned up the lights on the gun in an attempt to use its natural power to break free, but the oven began to drag across the floor with a horrific screeching sound. The crab was more than capable of pulling Dipper, the gun, and the oven through the rift—all he was doing was buying time.

“Dipper, you moron!” screamed Pacifica. “Take the damn coat off!” The material of the coat was too strong to tear under the power of the monster’s pincer, so it was either going to be the coat or Dipper, and she wasn’t about to let Dipper get dragged through into another dimension again, especially with such a pissed off crustacean on the other side.

Dipper’s eyes widened as he released one hand from the magnet gun and began digging into his coat. He quickly tossed the Weslee, explosive knife, and the vial of red liquid from the dyre rift onto the floor, the glass and metal clinking as he did so. The rest of the coat’s contents he was willing to sacrifice.

Then, twisting, he pulled his right arm free from the sleeve and transferred the magnet gun to his other hand, his other arm slipping free as the coat was yanked away from him and he collapsed to the floor with a grunt, his breath knocked out of him.

The crab, thrown off balance by the sudden loss of resistance, fell entirely back through the rift. It chattered as it stumbled back to its feet, but Pacifica was already gluing the tear shut. She could see through the gap, though, that it was coming back faster than the gun was spitting out the glue.

Then, a tremendous shearing sound was heard as the rusted oven came hurtling through the air. Mabel had grabbed the magnet gun from Dipper and lifted the oven up, throwing it at the rift with so much force that it crumpled through the gap under the sheer power of the gun, sending a sharp plug of metal into the other dimension and impacting the crab, shattering part of its shell. A pained screech was heard, and then cut off, as the last of the rift vanished under the purple alien adhesive.

“Why is this never easy?” asked Dipper as Pacifica, breathing heavily, powered down the gun and returned it to its sling. She walked over to him and helped him to his feet, making sure that he wasn’t injured any more than he already was—he already had some fresh bruises forming on his shoulders, and would likely need new bandages because the scab on his leg had torn, but he had fared much better than he had against the dyre.

“Because you never make it easy,” said Pacifica, grinning, covered by the cold sweat of relief that this was another problem solved. “You have to go around poking things.” Dipper smiled.

“I’ll help you with him,” said Mabel, tucking the magnet gun away and wrapping Dipper’s arm around her shoulder. The trio began to walk to the door, Dipper stumbling between the two, when he pointed at the objects he had thrown on the ground.

“Could you get those, Pacifica?” he asked, grunting. “I’m sure the Beta Twin can get me to the truck on her own.”

“I am the ALPHA!” shouted Mabel passionately as, with a single fluid motion, she lifted Dipper off his feet and carried him bridal style through the door and out to the vehicle. Even Dipper seemed surprised that she managed that.

Pacifica just shook her head and smiled as she knelt down. She picked up the explosive knife first, sliding it into her personal jacket. She then slipped the Weslee into a separate pocket, adding the red vial shortly afterwards.

Outside, Mabel was in the process of changing the bandages on Dipper’s leg in the bed of the truck. He had already opened the toolbox, so Pacifica vaulted over the tire and took off her trench coat. She gently added it to the box, and then set Dipper and Mabel’s on top of it. The electric gloves and the magnet gun had also been placed in the back of the truck, so she returned them to the box along with the glue gun. By the time she had closed the box, Dipper had been all patched up and was ready to get back on the road.

“No, no, no,” said Pacifica as Dipper began to walk around the driver’s seat. “You can have shotgun, but you’re not driving after that. Give me the keys.”

“Are you sure?” Dipper raised his eyebrow. “It doesn’t handle quite as smoothly as your Tesla.” He dangled the keys in front of her tauntingly.

“Of course,” said Pacifica, snatching them from him. “Besides, it’s either me or Mabel. Take your pick.”

“Entirely fair,” said Dipper as Pacifica unlocked her door and climbed in. Mabel climbed into the backseat as Dipper slowly pulled himself into the passenger side, clearly in pain. Pacifica wanted to help him, but there just wasn’t that much she could do. He needed to rest, but she couldn’t make him. Yet.

“Though I will say,” said Pacifica as she turned the keys and the engine roared to life, “it has been a while since I’ve driven something that you actually have to put the keys into instead of just pressing a button.”

“Not all of us can be rich and fancy like you,” said Dipper, closing his eyes, pulling his cap over them, and resting his head against the back of the seat.

“You can be fancy without being rich,” chided Pacifica. “Fancy is a state of mind.”

“It’s a state of dumb,” added Mabel from the back.

“That too,” acknowledged Pacifica as she pulled the truck back onto the road and began heading north. Dipper’s light breathing soon began to reverberate through the cabin, sleeping even though he wouldn’t admit to being tired.

Pacifica looked into the backseat and saw Mabel making very intense eye contact with her. Her eyes looked like a cat’s—calm, but threatening to go rogue at any moment. She knew that Dipper slept lightly, so they weren’t able to talk. Pacifica was thankful for that. She knew what the look meant, but any conversation about what had happened last night was going to have to wait.


	12. Ferry

The sun broke through the clouds in earnest as the trio drove north, passing over the Tacoma-Narrows Bridge and heading for the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard near Bremerton. Pacifica and Mabel chatted lightly, but never loudly, and never about anything reserved for girl-talk. Dipper appeared to be completely out of it. He started to snore once or twice, but Mabel flicked him on the head to cause him to stop, which surprisingly worked.

The road, once four lanes, narrowed down to three, then two as they drew ever closer. Pacifica was nervous about driving the truck onto the ferry, since she had never done that before—she had an image in her mind of a rickety barge that smelled like bird poop and rotten fish.

The _MV Chimacum_ , however, was bright white, new, and clean. It was big enough to feel stable, and Pacifica didn’t even notice when she went from driving on the pavement to driving on the boat—though she suspected that the ferry operator had told her to go to a special lane when he saw that she was paying with a black card—most people had never seen one before, after all.

As the truck rolled to a stop and Pacifica engaged the parking brake and turned it off, Dipper jolted awake. Mabel, already practically bouncing in her seat, flung open the doors and leapt out, taking the stairs two at a time as she climbed up to the top of the boat.

“Are we here already?” said Dipper as he straightened up, blearily rubbing his eyes.

“It’s been a long time, sleepyhead,” said Pacifica as she pulled on a pair of thin black gloves to protect her hands from the cold and chapping wind. “You just needed a nap.”

“I do feel better,” said Dipper as he arched his back, cracking it in three places. He gasped and took a deep breath as he woke up in full. “So,” he asked, looking at Pacifica, “do you want to try and track down Mabel before she starts harassing the captain?”

“I suppose that’s probably a good idea,” said Pacifica, smirking as she handed Dipper his keys before opening the door. “Or they might just dump your precious Francine into the ocean.”

“Mabel,” Dipper swore as he blushed. “What else did she tell you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” said Pacifica, patting him on the cheek. He blushed harder. “Now let’s go find your sister.”

The rest of the ferry was beginning to fill up as the two of them stepped out onto the pavement. Pavement on a boat—that was strange, for some reason. Dipper locked the truck behind them, and held the door as Pacifica led the way up a narrow metal staircase.

“All the way up,” said Dipper from behind her as they reached the first passenger floor. “She’ll be at the very front of the very top.”

“Did you show her Titanic?” asked Pacifica with a grin.

“I showed her the first half of Titanic,” said Dipper, shaking his head. “She turned it off right before they hit the iceberg. That way they could go on being happy forever.”

“But it opens on the old lady,” said Pacifica as they ascended the stairs. “That basically spoils how it ends. And it’s the Titanic! Who doesn’t know how that ended?”

“She closed her eyes and plugged her ears for that part,” replied Dipper. “And I don’t think she knows it was based on a true story.”

“I feel compelled to tell her,” said Pacifica as she opened the door at the top of the staircase, holding this one open for Dipper.

“Well, whatever you do, don’t tell her while we’re actually on a boat,” said Dipper as he stepped out onto the deck. “She’ll open one of the emergency chests and put on like twenty life jackets.”

“The water here’s super cold anyway,” shrugged Pacifica, pessimistic. “We wouldn’t last that long anyway.”

“It’s Puget Sound,” said Dipper as he took a step. “We’re a lot closer to land than the mid-Atlantic. If we huddled together, we might be able to stand it for long enough for a boat to get to us.” As his foot was at the peak of its swing, the boat lurched into motion, fully detaching from Bremerton on its way across the Sound to Seattle. Dipper grabbed Pacifica’s arm to steady himself, as she grabbed back. They looked at each other and let go as they each gained their sea legs—though they stayed close enough to grab each other again if they needed to. Or encountered an iceberg.

Side by side, they advanced towards the front of the ferry as it gained speed, sending wind whipping across the deck. Pacifica pulled her fur-lined coat tighter around her face as Dipper turned up the collar of his jacket and pulled his cap down lower, hunching his shoulders as best he could. It eventually grew so strong that they had to lean into it if they wanted to keep moving forwards.

They visually identified Mabel’s pink sweater at the front of the boat, exactly where Dipper had predicted. They slowly made their way over to her, finally able to stand properly once they had grabbed onto the handrail, which was covered in saltwater.

“Just look at all this natural beauty!” shouted Dipper sarcastically, tears streaming from his eyes, needing to shout to be heard over the whistling of the wind.

And indeed, it was beautiful. The water the ferry was plowing through was a lovely dark shade of blue that sparkled in the sun. Looking backwards, they could just see the snow-capped peaks of the Olympia mountains behind them. On either side of the channel of water was a tree-lined bank, only occasionally punctuated by single story houses, often painted in vibrant colors. Pacifica reached into her jacket and pulled out a pair of amber sunglasses.

Dipper, seeing her do so, pulled out a pair of aviators and put them on. Together, the three of them leaned over the railing on the front of the boat and took in the sights. Pacifica was in the middle, with Dipper to her left. Mabel had her phone out and was snapping pictures left and right, trying to capture something truly majestic. After a few minutes, however, she had pulled her sweater high up around her face so that only her watering eyes were exposed, and withdrawn her arms into the sleeves.

“It’s too cold out here,” she said before turning around and beginning to walk inside. She could get a view that was almost as good from behind the protective glass. Almost.

“This whole operation was your idea!” Dipper shouted back at her. “If we went through all the trouble of getting here, I’m going to enjoy it to the fullest!”

Mabel waddled inside as quickly as she could while Dipper turned back around, leaving him and Pacifica alone on the deck.

“Wait for it,” said Dipper as the boat turned a corner in the channel. “This is the best part.” He pointed to the right and Pacifica’s eyes followed him, gasping as the full visage of Mt. Rainier came into view.

She had been in Seattle before and had seen the mountain from both the top of the Space Needle and the streets below, but never had she had such a crystal clear view. Though it was miles away, the mountain towered over everything, jutting out of the earth like a single dominating column. It seemed like it didn’t belong, and for that reason alone, it was beautiful.

“It’s like the Lonely Mountain,” whispered Pacifica, just loud enough for Dipper to hear.

“From the Hobbit?” said Dipper, smiling at the reference. “I guess it is. It’s even volcanic, so it’s kind of like there’s a dragon there.”

“Is there gold?” asked Pacifica—half in jest, half in earnest.

“Probably somewhere,” chuckled Dipper. “But if I must be honest, I think the Lord of the Rings movies are better than these new Hobbit ones.”

“Oh, of course they are,” replied Pacifica. “But the books are even better.”

“You’ve read the books?” asked Dipper, incredulously. “I was never able to finish them. Something always seemed to come up. And also they were really big.”

“Of course I’ve read the books,” scoffed Pacifica. “I had to read for a certain number of hours each day. And they’re pretty good—I could switch from _Bloodcraft_ to them and back again and never really lose that sense of fantasy.”

“I’m impressed,” said Dipper. “But our lives seem like fantasy enough sometimes.”

“Also elves are hot,” said Pacifica, continuing to look ahead. “Something about the pointy ears.” Almost by instinct, Dipper reached up to feel how pointy the tips of his ears were before drawing his hands back with a frown on his face.

Dipper, noticing Pacifica staring at him with a small smile, lifted his nose and defended himself. “My hands are too cold to feel how pointy my ears are,” he said, “so I’m just going to assume that they’re pointy enough.”

“Not a bad assumption,” said Pacifica, wanting to reach out and flick his ears, but it was far too cold to take her hands out of her pockets.

“Here’s what I don’t get, though,” said Dipper as the ferry continued to chug along the waters of Puget Sound. “Your parents were so absurdly strict about so many things, and yet they’d let you play a game like _Bloodcraft?_ It just doesn’t seem right. I mean, I tried to play it once and I almost threw up.”

“That’s because you’re a scrub,” said Pacifica, gently bouncing into Dipper. He leaned back into her. Even with their coats on, they could feel each other’s warmth. “But yeah… I don’t think they ever figured out that I was playing it,” she continued. “I got really good at switching back and forth between _Bloodcraft_ and the chess game that came with the computer whenever I heard their footsteps. The only problem was that I would play so much _Bloodcraft_ that my turn on the chess game would be over and I’d lose, so my parents only ever walked in on the ‘Game Over’ screen. They actually brought in a tutor to teach me how to play better.”

“And did you get better?” asked Dipper, laying his head on Pacifica’s.

“Marginally,” she shrugged. “I was mostly disappointed it was taking away from my game time.”

“It’s a weird thing,” said Dipper, “how good we can get at memorizing so many people’s footstep patterns. It’s a good survival mechanism, I suppose.”

“I actually didn’t have to memorize that many,” said Pacifica, eyes downcast. “The butlers and maids were all pretty cool about it. They’d let me get away with stuff. It was just mom and dad who would get pissed off.”

“Yeah,” said Dipper, rolling his eyes. “I know about your dad. He hates me. He’s wanted to throw me out every time that I’ve seen him.”

“Well,” said Pacifica, blushing. “He may not hate you _quite_ as much as you think.”

“What?” asked Dipper, shocked. He stood up slightly, causing Pacifica to lean away as well, disgruntled.

“Well, he definitely _did_ hate you,” began Pacifica. “Especially after the Corduroy ghost incident. And also when you cost us our family fortune by helping to banish Bill—thanks for that, by the way.”

“No problem.”

“But you’ve helped us more since then—unsurprisingly, the Northwest’s have done enough to earn multiple hauntings in the Manor. Like last summer. Do you remember the mouse?”

“You mean the possessed mouse that your dad found after it chewed through the white carpet, a lot of the paper money in your vault, and ripped the face of your grandfather out of all the paintings in the house in a single night?” asked Dipper. “Yes, I remember the mouse.”

“What do you remember about the night you came over to our house to catch it?” asked Pacifica.

“Well,” started Dipper, hesitantly. “I remember it was a Category… Six, ish? About the same as the ghosts Mabel and I found at the Dusk 2 Dawn. And I remember that I was able to trap it in a cage after baiting it with your grandfather’s old watch. And I remember that you had a headband on and were wearing plaid pants and a sweatshirt and were really cute.”

“I’m glad to see that you remember the important things,” replied Pacifica. “But do you actually remember anything from the exorcism itself? Like actually seeing the ghost?” Dipper’s face contorted as he tried to think back.

“I… don’t think so,” he said. “I set up the candles, I said the incantation, and then there was a flash of light. After that, the mouse was gone.”

“Listen,” Pacifica said, looking over her shoulder. “My dad would kill me if he knew that I told you this, so please keep this a secret.” Dipper’s face grew serious. “We actually saw the ghost as it came out. It was like time slowed down. You, my mom, and Mabel were all moving really slow, and it was just me and my dad who were still in real time.”

“People with pure Northwest blood,” said Dipper, his eyes searching as Pacifica told her story. “What did it look like?”

“She just looked like a sweet old lady,” said Pacifica, moving closer to Dipper. “Grey hair in a bun, small glasses down around her nose, wrinkly. But my dad _recognized_ her.”

“What?” asked Dipper in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Pacifica continued. “Apparently it brought back some really old memories for him—he called her Nancy. She had been a maid at the manor right when he was born and was apparently put in charge of taking care of him for about three years.”

“Some job she did,” said Dipper, rolling his eyes.

“She apparently did too good of a job,” grimaced Pacifica. “When she was cleaning one day, she found the room that you and I fell into when the Corduroy ghost was chasing us. She saw everything. Everything that my family had done. And then, when she turned around, she saw my grandfather blocking the door.”

“I don’t like where this is going…” mumbled Dipper as Pacifica swallowed.

“He didn’t let her leave. She didn’t tell us exactly how he did it, but she never left the manor again. She saw me standing there, and as young as I was, she descended to where my dad was and whispered something in his ear. It’s honestly the only time I’ve ever seen him cry. Or really show any emotion at all over another person.”

“He must have loved her,” said Dipper.

“She got to him before the Northwest tradition did. She seemed nice, though—said that she chose to possess a mouse because they had always been the toughest pests to get rid of when she was working as a housekeeper.”

“Still, I’m shocked that she was able to get that mouse to eat as much as it did in one night. There are still physical limits on the things that you can possess. Having both possessed and been possessed, I know.”

“She was passionate,” shrugged Pacifica. “But she didn’t blame me or my dad for what my grandfather did. Someone who he had killed. Maybe that softened my dad’s heart some, like you did for mine.” Pacifica shivered as a particularly cold burst of wind raced across the bow of the ship.

Dipper lifted the right side of his coat and removed his arm from it. Then, in a single motion, he wrapped the coat and his arm around Pacifica and pulled her into his grasp. His head was practically resting on top of hers. She enjoyed the weight.

“What did she do after she whispered to your dad?” asked Dipper.

“She turned around, picked up the mouse and patted it on the head, and then vanished with it in a burst of light. It must have all happened so fast from your perspective that you just saw the light. But my dad was different. He sent my mom and all the servants away for the weekend and locked me in my room, since he figured that I had already seen the ghost.”

“Why did he send them away?” asked Dipper.

“Let me tell the story,” chided Pacifica, gently lifting her head to bop Dipper on the chin. “He locked me in my room. I guess he figured I couldn’t see it from my window, but if I stood on my bed and craned my neck just right, I could see him digging something up in the backyard.”

“Nancy,” gasped Dipper.

“I think so,” sighed Pacifica. “My grandpa killed her over our family secrets and buried her in the backyard, and it was my dad who dug her up. She never came back, so I guess he went to give her bones a proper burial.”

“I forget sometimes that you’ve seen some messed up stuff too,” Dipper said.

“More stuff than you, probably,” joked Pacifica. “I’ve actually lived in Gravity Falls for more than three summers. You’re just better at documenting stuff.”

“I do take pride in that,” grinned Dipper. “But I still think your dad doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, he definitely doesn’t like you,” replied Pacifica. “But he’s got more respect for you. He’s asked me how you are once or twice. Though,” Pacifica blushed, “he would still be pretty pissed if he knew that you were shirtless in bed with me last night.”

“Wow, look at that,” said Dipper, sighing as the ferry finally pulled out into Puget Sound proper and began the straightaway towards the city of Seattle. Even from this distance, the gleam of metal and glass, framed by gray and white mountains, could be seen glistening across the water.

“It is beautiful,” said Pacifica, before bonking her head into Dipper’s chin again. “But don’t avoid the question. Why’d you take your shirt off?” She could practically feel the warm blood flush into his face.

“It was hot,” he said defensively.

“That’s a lame excuse,” replied Pacifica.

“It’s the truth!” said Dipper. “Between the covers, and me, and you, and… everything else that was going on, it was like a blast furnace. Not all of us can get away wearing those shorts of yours.”

“Okay, okay,” said Pacifica, nestling back into him. “I believe you. But my dad definitely wouldn’t, so I think we should probably not tell him.”

“Oh, no,” laughed Dipper. “I’m not that crazy.” They rode in silent for several minutes before Pacifica started to speak again.

“How many scars do you think you have?” she asked, tentatively.

“Dozens,” said Dipper, confidently. “I’ve never counted, but it’s got to be a lot by now. The time I fell off my bike, the time I crashed the golf cart, that time I was held by an interdimensional chaos god, and the time I accidentally slipped with a saw. That’s four right there.” Pacifica rolled her eyes. “And I suppose there’s probably going to be one more with that dyre stab, depending on how good a job you did with the stitching.”

“I did a perfect job with the stitching,” replied Pacifica. “I could turn you into a quilt if I wanted to.” She sighed. “Dipper, what are we doing?”

“I’m hugging you as we ride on the ferry to Seattle,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she replied.

“I know,” Dipper sighed.

“Like right now,” said Pacifica, “I really want to turn around and kiss you because that would be like super romantic, but I don’t want to do something that you don’t want to.”

“I forget sometimes that we’ve seen some messed up stuff together,” said Dipper, seeming to continue the conversation from earlier—but Pacifica could feel him squeezing her tighter. She knew what he meant.

“Together, we’ve gotten through a lot,” she replied. “It makes me wonder what exactly we couldn’t make it through.”

“I think I’d like to find out,” breathed Dipper.

“You think?” sighed Pacifica.

“I kn…”

“PRETZELS!” shouted Mabel as she skidded to a halt next to them. “They serve those big fluffy hot pretzels here!”

Pacifica and Dipper leapt apart as he quickly fumbled to put his arm back into his jacket. Their faces were beet red, from a combination of being burnt by the wind and the blood rushing to their heads.

“Oh,” said Mabel, sadly, as she held two pretzels. “I was going to bring you one pretzel so you’d have to share, but I feel like I’m interrupting something.”

“Nope,” Dipper said haltingly as he grabbed the pretzel that Mabel was extending towards him. “Nothing at all.” He tore the pretzel in half and gave half of it to Pacifica, who held it, dumbfounded. Before anyone had a chance to speak, a loud foghorn resounded all over the boat, indicating to the passengers that it was time to head back to their cars.

Dipper took a single bite of the pretzel and tossed the rest in a trash can as he walked brusquely past Mabel, already fishing for the keys in his pocket.

Pacifica was more direct—when Mabel turned around to face her with an apologetic look, Pacifica threw her half of the pretzel off the boat, which a seagull swooped down and grabbed before it hit the water. She gently bonked Mabel on the head as she walked by.

“Bad Mabel,” she whispered to herself as she turned and followed Pacifica. “It’s nice to feed the baby birds pretzels, but they’ve got to fly sometime.”

The three briefly lost each other in the wave of people heading back to their vehicles, but they all rendezvoused at the truck. Dipper was in the driver’s seat, over Pacifica’s objections, with the engine already running to get the heat going. Within a few minutes, the ferry had docked and the lines of cars began to move, disgorged by the boat into the Seattle city center.

“Now,” said Dipper as he followed the road that ran alongside the docks. “It’s later than I thought it’d be when we got here. If we want to make it on time, I think that we should head straight to the show. There’s no way we could get to our hotel and back in time. Besides, the concert’s a couple of miles away and we can get a pretty good spot if we get there early.”

“Do we have time for dinner?” asked Pacifica, curiously. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but a little extra energy for dancing never hurt.

“Gah…” said Dipper, checking the clock on the dashboard. “Not anywhere where we could sit down and enjoy it.”

“Do we have time for coffee?!?!” asked Mabel, sticking her head into the front seat.

Dipper sighed. “We have time for coffee.”


	13. Sparks

Seattle was lighting up as the trio walked along the empty sidewalks. The wind wasn’t nearly as bad with the buildings to shelter them, but both Dipper and Pacifica decided to keep their jackets on—the temperature was predicted to fall dramatically once the sun set, and they could already feel a new nip in the air. As they crossed the street at an intersection, they had a perfect view of the Space Needle, columned on either side by closer skyscrapers. Dipper had to grab Mabel by the arm and pull her from the crosswalk.

If Astoria was lit by neon, Seattle was lit by incandescence. The entire city glowed yellow, only occasionally punctuated by a white light from the newer skyscrapers. As cold as it was, it felt warm.

The club that the band was playing at was called The Crocodile, and Mabel eagerly bounced forward, hopped up on a tall cup of Mabel Juice 2.0. She peeked around every corner, looking down at the signs overhanging the streets in an attempt to find it. Dipper had memorized the address and knew exactly which turns to take, and he knew that they had plenty of time to make it before the doors opened. He and Pacifica were walking much more calmly next to each other—Pacifica sipping on her cappuccino while Dipper had a hot apple cider.

However, when Mabel turned the next corner, she ran smack into the back of another group of people. They didn’t appear too bothered, but Mabel had to quickly flail her arms to grab a lamppost and keep from falling.

“It looks like we should have gotten here even earlier,” she said to Dipper as he and Pacifica stepped onto the next street. The sign for The Crocodile hung above them, and the line to get in was already stretched out the door.

“We’ve got tickets,” said Pacifica, reaching into her jacket to pull them out. She had to fumble a bit as she did so, reaching past the Weslee and glass vial, which she had forgotten were in her navy coat. “We’ll be fine. And look, the line’s already moving.”

The silhouette of a person moving behind the doors could be seen, accompanied by a sharp click as the lock released and the doors opened. A man in a black t-shirt stepped out with a scanner gun and began checking people’s tickets as he ushered them in. Slowly, the line shrank until it was the trio’s turn to enter. Pacifica stepped forward and extended the tickets, since Mabel was too occupied humming songs to do it herself.

“Do you have ID’s?” said the bouncer as he moved to pull out an orange stamp. He knew full well that they didn’t, but was obligated to ask. Mabel started to reach into her sweater, but Dipper had to caution her that Sir Dippingsauce and Lady Mabelton were unlikely to carry much weight outside of Gravity Falls. The bouncer stamped Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica’s hands as they entered—Mabel was thrilled that she was getting a temporary tattoo, but distraught at having to throw away the rest of her Mabel Juice 2.0. No outside food or drinks were allowed, but they thankfully didn’t have a metal detector—Pacifica was able to make it through, even with all of the contraband in her jacket.

The inside of The Crocodile was narrow, but soon opened up onto the main floor. There were four columns arranged around the outside that supported a balcony overhanging the pit—in between the columns, on either side, were staircases that led up to the balcony. The floor itself was concrete, smooth and stained with years and years of dancing and friction. The stage at one end was elevated, and the instruments were already set up—the drum kit in the back, and a grand piano to the right. Around the piano were two smaller keyboards, easily within reach of whoever was playing. A cream colored electric guitar sat to the left, while a dark acoustic one sat in the shadows. Over the stage was a walkway where the staff were setting up the show lights, which occasionally flashed in the darkness.

A purple curtain labeled with _Jukebox the Ghost_ and the band’s logo hung behind the stage—it was a simple drawing of a ghost, with arms like a snowman and a collar that was way too big for its neck. Mabel quickly bounded up to the stage, getting as close as she possibly could. But, after realizing that it would be about twenty minutes before the show started, she spotted the booth in the back selling merch and headed over to it.

Meanwhile, Dipper and Pacifica walked to the columns on the left hand side, where Dipper leaned against one. Pacifica leaned against him.

“This is prime real estate,” he said as he rested his head against the pole. “A good view of the stage, not too far from the center of the pit if you want to go crazy, and something for me to lean against with my leg.”

“What do you mean _if_ I want to go crazy?” asked Pacifica, looking up at him. “I have every intention of going crazy. And I’m bringing you with me.”

“I don’t know if my leg could stand up to all that jumping around,” replied Dipper, shifting his weight. “And what if they decide they want to crowd surf and jump into the pit? I’d crumple.”

“Dipper, there’s a grand piano on the stage,” scoffed Pacifica. “Based on that and the songs Mabel played in the car, I don’t think these are the kind of guys who crowd surf.”

“I actually appreciate that,” replied Dipper. “There’s a lot of pressure involved in that. And you have to touch them and they’re all sweaty… nasty.”

“Don’t act like you don’t have hand sanitizer in your pockets,” said Pacifica. “I know you.”

“Of course I’ve got hand sanitizer. But that’s no substitute for a good wash. It still leaves the bacteria corpses on your hands.” He shuttered.

“Terrifying,” replied Pacifica as she suddenly felt a hand slap her on the shoulder. She ducked forward with a grunt, and Dipper went with her as he was simultaneously hit.

“I got us stickers!” said Mabel, pointing at the one that she proudly displayed in the center of her sweater.

“But why would you put them on our backs?” asked Dipper, craning his neck to try and get a look. “We can’t see them from there.”

“No, but other people will. No one’s looking back at the crowd during a concert; everyone’s looking forwards. So they all get to share the love,” replied Mabel cheerily.

“But the band’s looking at us,” said Pacifica. “And isn’t it more important that they see the stickers? They’re the ones who get paid, after all.”

“They can’t see us,” said Mabel as she leaned on the pole as well, pushing Pacifica closer into Dipper. “If there’s one thing I learned from my rock opera, it’s that the stage lights are so bright you can’t see _anything_.”

Pacifica nodded her head in acknowledgement. The one time she had given a piano recital, she was so nervous that she paid no attention to the audience at all. Everyone told her that she did fantastically, but she could feel the sweat dripping down her back. She suspected that her parents had paid people off, but she never bothered to ask. Sometimes it was helpful for her to lean into being a Northwest.

As Dipper struggled to readjust the sticker Mabel had graciously applied to him, the speakers roared to life and began to play introductory music to get the crowd fired up. Soon, people began to flood the floor, coalescing around Dipper and Pacifica and forcing them even closer against the column as Mabel pushed forward, slipping to get between people and make her way up to the stage.

All of the lights went dark, and Pacifica could barely make out the shadowy figures of three people as they made their way onto the stage. As they settled into their instruments, three white lights opened up and shone down on them—the pianist, the guitarist, and the drummer.

“Now,” said Pacifica, leaning up to shout into Dipper’s ear over the music, “I know Mabel already told us in the truck on the way up here, but who’s who?”

“Ben’s on the piano, Jesse’s on the drums, and Tommy’s on guitar,” replied Dipper, his head nestled into Pacifica’s hair.

“Ben’s cute,” replied Pacifica. “I like the little beard thing he’s got going on.”

“Just wait until he starts on the piano,” chuckled Dipper. “His fingers are magic.”

“And I’m sure you would know,” said Pacifica, lightly throwing her hand against Dipper as they both blushed. “But I get what you mean. I play piano too. I could teach you,” she added slyly.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming out tonight,” began Ben as Dipper’s face grew even redder. “Now, we’re from the east coast, but Seattle’s always been special for us,” Ben continued, tapping out a few notes on the piano. “Beautiful city, but prettier people.” A roar went up from the crowd. “It is always cold up here, though. So, to start, here’s a song about lighting myself on fire.”

He slammed his hands on the piano, sending music rocketing through the hall with precision. The drums steadily joined in, while the guitar stayed in the background. As he started to sing, the crowd started to move, swaying back and forth in time with him. His head bobbed rhythmically, perfectly coordinated. As the music reached a crescendo, he quickly spun around and continued playing on an electric keyboard without missing a beat.

This song hadn’t been on Mabel’s playlist, but Pacifica started to dance as she caught onto the beat. She felt Dipper’s arms wrap around her as she swayed back and forth, his foot tapping along behind her. She closed her eyes, lost in the warmth, the crowd, the music. Soon, however, the song died out and Ben began to speak again.

“That was a gentle one to start off with,” he said. “I feel like this crowd can handle more. What do you think Tommy?”

“Sounds good to me,” replied Tommy, shrugging. “Jesse?”

“I love you Jesse!” screamed Mabel from the front row. Dipper and Pacifica couldn’t see her, but knew it was her. Jesse smiled and winked as he raised his drumsticks, causing Mabel to scream again, and tapped them together four times, seeming like he was going to rip into a solo. However, he only began to lightly ring on the cymbals as Ben tapped out a high staccato on the grand piano.

 _"Dragged into another heartbreak, like a moth into the flame,”_ he sang, quiet and low. _“Are we programmed for broken romance? Everything just sounds the same…”_ Then, after a pause, everybody in the crowd started to jump and sang along with them. This song, Pacifica knew.

 _“Why’s every song about love, or drinking too much? Yeah maybe that’s because, everybody’s lonely!”_ she shouted along with everyone else, leaping out of Dipper’s arms and into the air. Dipper tried to follow her, but winced and fell back against the pole. He had been through too much over the past two days to subject himself to that kind of strain.

“Well,” whispered Pacifica to herself as she turned around and looked at Dipper. “Maybe not _everybody’s_ lonely.” She returned to Dipper and stood next to him, reaching for his hand and lacing her fingers into his. She stood in front of him, happy. Happy.

She had known what she wanted, and she was sure that Dipper now knew as well. He just needed the chance to say it. But he wasn’t much for shouting, and it was far too loud to say these things now. But the look in his eyes as he met her gaze told her everything she needed to know as he pulled her closer into a hug. They swayed together, for half a moment.

Pacifica suddenly pulled away from him as she felt a tremor, stepping back in surprise. Dipper looked at her in confusion, wondering what had made her jump so suddenly, when they had just been so close. Pacifica seemed to freeze, standing there looking at him. She didn’t want to deal with this right now, but she was afraid that she had no choice. But that didn’t mean she had to drag Dipper into it. He had been through enough. She could handle this one.

“I’m going to go find Mabel,” shouted Pacifica, as the song continued.

“Is everything okay?” asked Dipper with concern. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” replied Pacifica reassuringly. “You’ve done everything right.” She gently brought her fingers up to her lips and kissed them, before reaching up and pressing them against Dipper’s forehead. “Everything’s perfect. I just need to talk to Mabel.”

“Okay,” said Dipper, an uneasy look still on his face. “I believe you.”

Pacifica smiled back at him as best she could while hiding the grimace that lurked beneath. She turned away from him and plunged into the crowd, forcing her way through the sweating bodies as she made her way to Mabel. As she did so, she reached into her jacket and pulled out the vibrating Weslee. Why was it going off now, of all times?

Amidst all the flashing lights, she scanned the green lines of text that Dipper had shown her as they made their way to the previous rifts. These numbers didn’t make any sense—a sustained spike in weirdness energy over twice the strength of the first one… that was scary, but possible. What didn’t make any sense was the distance reading… it said the rift was less than thirty feet away. Pacifica looked up in worry, scanning the room as quickly as she could between the moving people around her—sometimes she wished she was taller.

There should be a glow, there should be a shimmer, something. The rift just couldn’t be invisible, could it? The only place a shine like that could be hidden was next to something that was already bright. Her stomach dropped as she looked up at the catwalk where the lights were being set up earlier.

Instantly, her eyes latched onto a thin, sickly green seam that shouldn’t have been there. It ran horizontally over the stage, crossing the almost half of the entire room. There were at least a hundred people here, and the rift was directly over them. It was a recipe for disaster if even the slightest thing came through. Thankfully, the stage lights were bright enough that no one had noticed the anomaly yet. Something needed to be done about this, _now_.

Pacifica returned the Weslee to her jacket. It was useless now that she had pinpointed the rift. She furrowed her brow as she pressed forwards on her way to find Mabel. The truck was too far away to run back for supplies, and Dipper was too injured to be of help with such a big rift. Pacifica was going to handle this one without him, if but to keep him safe.

She was able to find Mabel by following the screams that were several pitches higher than the rest of the crowd noise. There was also a circular space in the crowd that Mabel stood in the middle of, everyone giving her plenty of room as she tore up the dance floor, spinning so quickly that it would have made most people vomit.

“Mabel!” she shouted over the music as she grabbed her by the sleeve. Mabel came to a halt so quickly that she did stumble, and Pacifica had to catch her. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Why aren’t you with Dipper?” was Mabel’s first question. “Wait, a problem? What did the idiot do?”

“Nothing bad,” said Pacifica. She would have blushed, but she was focused on the issue had hand. “Look up.”

Mabel craned her neck to look directly above her. She had to search for a moment, but soon located the rift, which seemed to be growing brighter every second. Already, it was tinting most of the room in a lurid pallor.

“That is a problem,” she said, returning her gaze to Pacifica. “We have to go get Dipper. We need to go back to the truck and get the coats and supplies.”

“Dipper’s not up for this,” said Pacifica, lowering her head. “He’s so weak already, between being stabbed and getting tossed around by that crab. I don’t want to hurt him anymore. We can close this one ourselves.”

“How?” asked Mabel as Pacifica tightened her grip on her sleeve and began to drag her over to staircase on the right, so they wouldn’t pass by Dipper. The crowd rushed in to close the gap behind her. “We don’t have any glue.”

“We don’t have the glue _gun_ ,” said Pacifica as they entered the relative quiet of the stairwell. “But we have the glue.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the glass case that Dipper had given her as extra ammo before they attacked the second rift. There was a tiny nozzle on one end that was sealed with a tiny glob of glass. All they had to do was break it, and they could pour the glue out.

“The rift looks like it’s close enough to the walkway that we can reach the entire thing without needing the gun,” said Pacifica. Once they were on the balcony, they saw that the lights were still one more story up—Pacifica took the lead, finding a service door that had been propped open for convenience. She wouldn’t have to bash the door in, which was a stroke of much overdue good luck.

Mabel crouched behind her, using Pacifica as a shield as they ascended the final few steps. From their new vantage point, they could see the entirety of the concert floor. The band continued to play and make small talk with the audience, and no one seemed to have noticed that something was going horribly wrong. Dipper was still leaned against the pole, and bobbed his head along with the music. Pacifica prayed that he wouldn’t look up.

The rift was splayed out before them, running the entire length of the walkway. Thankfully, as long as it was, it hadn’t yet grown wide enough to see through. The easiest thing would be to start at one end and make their way to the other, applying the glue all the while. Pacifica knelt down on the walkway next to the door and set the glass case down in front of her. She gently placed the nozzle in between the door and the frame, and then slammed the door shut, causing the glass glob to break off and leaving a jagged edge behind. The glue gun made a much cleaner cut, but this one would do.

“Now we just need something to smear the glue with,” said Pacifica, looking at Mabel.

“How about we cut off your hair and use it?” asked Mabel, perfectly in earnest.

“Keep your fingers away from my hair,” said Pacifica, grabbing it defensively. “How about we use a sleeve of your sweater instead. You can fix it in thirty minutes.”

“But this is my favorite sweater,” said Mabel, hugging herself.

“All your sweaters are your favorite,” replied Pacifica as she reached into her jacket and pulled out the explosive knife. “This is a sacrifice for the greater good.”

“The greater good is my sweater,” said Mabel.

“Mabel, look,” sighed Pacifica. “Look at where this rift is. The longer we wait, the greater the chance that something heavy comes through and falls right onto Jesse’s head.” Mabel grumbled as she withdrew her right arm into the body of her sweater. Pacifica stepped forward and stretched the fabric out as she began to saw through it—it took longer than expected because Mabel’s stitching was quite good, but soon Pacifica was holding the severed piece of fabric in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Mabel as she picked up the glue container and poured a small amount of the adhesive onto the cloth. Pacifica pressed the sleeve against the rift and stepped out tentatively onto the walkway, making sure that it didn’t shake and could hold their weight. Every two feet or so, they stopped for Mabel to reapply the adhesive.

The rift was sealing shut behind them, but it appeared to be growing in front of them—the gap between dimensions becoming greater and greater. Pacifica tried to hurry the process along since they were already halfway done, but the glue only flowed so fast due to its incredibly high viscosity—this is why the glue gun heated it up beforehand. As she turned around to reapply the glue to the sleeve, she froze as she saw Mabel’s expression.

Mabel was looking at something directly behind her, and Pacifica whipped around in panic. The rift was now wide enough to see through, and on the other side was a creature so large that she couldn’t see it in its entirety. All that she could make out was a writhing mass of tentacles and way, way more than seven eyes. They appeared to be searching in all different directions, none of them focusing on anything in particular—until they saw her.

With a screech like that of a vulture, but as loud as a train, all of its uncountable eyes locked onto her face. Behind her, she could hear a similar sound come from the crowd as they panicked and began to stampede towards the exits. Pacifica held on tight to the glue sleeve and dropped down to lie flat on the walkway as three of the monster’s tentacles rocketed through the rift and began searching the space.

One of them immediately swung closely by her face, and she was able to get a good look at it. The tentacles were green, but covered in a layer of orange mucus that smelled like hot asphalt and was constantly dripping. The suckers were each about three inches wide, and rimmed with tiny spines like the underside of a mushroom. However, the spines looked much harder, almost like teeth. In the center of the ring of spiny teeth was a flailing bit of flesh with a mind of its own, searching and flexing like a tongue. It looked hollow on the inside, like it was made for sucking the juices out of its prey.

Pacifica winced as it drew closer to her, but it suddenly retreated as a much more familiar scream filled the air—Mabel. She had tried to run, but hadn’t ducked out of the way quickly enough. A single tentacle had wrapped its way around her left arm and had lifted her off of the ground. Her scream soon turned from one of panic to one of pain as the lashing tongues tried to dig their way through the fabric and into her flesh, but her weave was strong—the remaining sleeve of her sweater afforded her much needed protection.

“Mabel!” screamed Pacifica as the tentacle lifted her off the catwalk and began dragging her back through the rift. Pacifica, dropping the glue coated sleeve, sprang to her feet and was just able to grab ahold of Mabel’s ankle. She tried to pull her back—the blonde and the beast engaged in a tug of war with a human body. However, the creature was much too strong, far stronger than the crab that had picked up Dipper. Pacifica flailed her legs as she, too, was lifted off of the walkway and dragged through the portal.

The air in the other dimension smelled of volcanos and rotten eggs—sulphur, bursting up in steaming clouds from the waters of what appeared to be a massive swamp. Strange trees, narrow at the bottom and wide at the top, occupied the thin strips of solid land, while the sloughy waterways were populated by putrid mud and sharp, three-foot long stalks of grass.

It was these channels that the creature seemed to move in, dragging itself along through the use of its tentacles and vacuuming up microscopic bits of plants and animals with its countless tongues—catching a mammal like a human, or a horse, was like striking gold. Pacifica, clinging to Mabel’s leg with all the strength her arms could muster, was able to see the creature in all of its wretched glory for the first time.

All of its tentacles were easily thirty feet long, and each seemed to move with a mind of its own. You could cut one off, and the monster probably would have been none the wiser. It was shaped like a massive, many-armed starfish, with dozens of eyes arranged in a double ring surrounding what appeared to be a basket of pink flesh, burning acid, and polished bones in the center of its body. In addition to sucking things dry, it seemed that it could also just put things directly into its exposed, pulsing stomach to be digested. It was this vat of a mouth that the tentacle was lowering Mabel towards—and Pacifica, dangling from Mabel’s feet, was much closer to it.

Pacifica looked down. There was the barest gap of the creature’s skin, between the ring of eyes on the inside and the writhing sea of tentacles on the outside, where she could land if she let go at just the right time.

“Pacifica!” cried Mabel from above her. “What do we do?”

“Hold on!” replied Pacifica, focusing her eyes as she tried to time out when she needed to let go. She swung her legs out, allowing her to gain some momentum.

“I don’t have to!” shouted Mabel back as Pacifica released, plummeting eight feet to impact with the creature on the side of it opposite the rift, kneeling down. The flesh gave beneath her, like a half inflated bouncy castle, both cushioning her fall and causing her to stumble backwards, almost falling off and back into the tentacles. The creature seemed to be inflated by massive air bladders, which meant that it probably could squeeze down like an octopus and fit through the narrow rift and back into The Crocodile if it wanted to.

She was barely able to stay on by reaching out to one of the ten eyes which suddenly focused on her, instead of on Mabel. They were simple eyes, with slit pupils like a cat. Pacifica would have been grossed out if she had had any more time to think about it, but she was desperately scrabbling for a handhold. Her hand flailed out and wrapped around one of the eyes, pulling it loose from its socket and dragging a foot of nerve cable with it.

“Pa-“ she heard, right before the voice was cut off by the creature screeching yet again—deafening now that she stood next to the echoing stomach the voice emanated from. Her head twitched up as quickly as it could, and she saw Dipper making his way towards the rift across the catwalk. He had managed to drag himself up the stairs after all. But she also knew that he was going to do something really dumb if she didn’t manage to solve the problem right now.

“Pacifica!” Mabel screamed again, reaching out to her with her free arm. Her feet only dangled a yard above the pool of acid in the center of the beast, though she was pulling her legs up with all of her strength.

Pacifica’s head flipped back and forth between Dipper and Mabel. It seemed she had a choice to make. She could try to save Mabel, but there was no guarantee that she could get her back to the rift. Or, she could charge towards the rift herself and leap through before sealing it back up. She didn’t want to do either, but she was a Northwest. She was going to get everything.

In a swift and fluid motion, she dove into her jacket and pulled out the explosive knife. This didn’t seem like the kind of beast that could be reasoned with, and she wasn’t about to let it kill her before she saw what this knife could do. Flipping the safety up and clamping her index finger down over the button, she stabbed the blade down and into the fleshy eye socket of the creature, where its eyeball used to be.

The razor sharp metal easily pierced into the meat of the creature, driven so deep by Pacifica’s thrust that it penetrated into the gas bladder that kept it inflated. As a horrific smell, far worse than sulfur, rushed out of the beast, the concentrated burst of gasoline turned into an aerosol as it was injected into the monster.

Pacifica felt the hilt getting lighter as the liquid poured into the gruesome starfish, and she was waiting to feel the click of the sparking mechanism before she let go. Suddenly, the creature quaked.

The gasoline must have reacted poorly with the linings inside of the beast, because all of its tentacles suddenly started to flail randomly. Mabel’s screams whipped back and forth in her throat as she was thrown around by the one latched to her arm. Pacifica was thrown off of the creature’s skin, losing her grip on the knife.

As she turned in the air, she saw the pressure inside of the creature force the knife out of the wound, and the spark from within the blade arc harmlessly into the air as it clattered to the ground. Pacifica fell onto her back, still safe next to the beast’s eyes as she staggered to her feet. The gasoline on its own might have been enough to cripple, or even kill it given enough time, but they didn’t have the chance for that. Dipper was at the rift, and appeared to be trying to climb through, hobbled leg first.

A screech escaped from the center of the beast, different than the first two—it was answered by similar screeches from across the swamp. Much like the dyre, it seemed that this thing had friends. Pacifica wasn’t sure how quickly they could move, but she didn’t want to find out.

As she staggered to her feet, she reached back into her pocket, desperate for anything. Why hadn’t she worn the trench coat? Her eyes grew wide, then gained a vicious glint as she felt her fingers draw across the warm glass surface of the red vial. She only hoped that it would be enough.

She looked at the tentacle that held Mabel—it appeared to be slowing down as the reaction to the gasoline subsided. The window of opportunity was closing. The tentacle, occupied with its own mind, began lowering Mabel back into the creature’s open acidic stomach once more.

“Mabel!” shouted Pacifica, getting her attention. “Lose the sweater! You can make another one!” Pacifica only hoped that the tongues of the beast hadn’t already wormed their way into her skin—that would make this much bloodier.

Mabel heard her and made eye contact, crying. She closed her eyes, trusting in Pacifica’s plan. She screamed as she tore her arm free from the sleeve and slipped out of the sweater—just barely able to grab her grappling hook on the way out.

Mabel fell towards the center of the beast, but had wormed out just quickly enough. She fell directly onto the ring of eyes, causing the beast to flutter its eyelids and scream again. As it shook, however, Mabel yelped as she lost her stability and started to tumble towards the pool.

Pacifica, holding the vial in her left hand, lowered her head, swore to herself, and charged forward. She leapt over the circle of eyes, and then planted her foot on the single slim ring of firm muscle and bone that supported the top of the vat, causing it to fracture as she did so. She flung herself over the acid, leaping and twisting like a cat. She dropped the vial into the very center of the pit and then impacted Mabel, hitting her with enough force to pull her out of her fall and land both of them back on the safe zone.

“Grapple, now!” commanded Pacifica as Mabel sat up, dazed for only a moment before raising her arms and firing towards the rift. Pacifica wrapped her arms around Mabel’s waist and held on for dear life. Dipper, halfway through, fell back onto the catwalk.

Pacifica looked back in trepidation as the vial sank into the acid—already, the glass was melting away, and it soon released a hissing stream of the red liquid into the creature. A multicolored flame flared up, turning the heart of the beast into a blast furnace as it screeched and bellowed. Pacifica felt her muscles contract as the grappling hook found its target and yanked both of them off the creature—just in time.

As the liquid ate away at the sides of the vat with fire, it soon broke through into the gasoline filled air bladder. In a single mighty burst, all of the gas went up at once, tearing the creature apart limb from limb and sending a shower of millions of blue, green, and red sparks in every direction. Pacifica and Mabel screamed as the pressure wave caught up with them and sent them tumbling back through the rift. A wave of the sparks followed as they crashed into the catwalk, gasping as their breath was knocked out of them.

As they sat up, they saw Dipper standing there with the jagged container of adhesive, just as he finished the final swipe with Mabel’s severed sweater sleeve. With a plaintive pulse, the rift grew thinner, and then vanished. Dipper turned around, breathing heavily.

“Sorry Mabel,” he said, handing her the glue covered sleeve sympathetically. “I think this is all that’s left of that one.”

“Eh,” replied Mabel, chuckling. “I remember what it looked like. I can fix it.”

“What was that?” asked Dipper, narrowing his eyes as he turned towards Pacifica.

“That was a rift that Mabel and I closed,” said Pacifica matter-of-factly as she stood and looked at Dipper. The catwalk was narrow, so they were standing very close together.

“Yes, but it was very big and very dangerous,” scolded Dipper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you couldn’t even climb through it own your own,” justified Pacifica, poking her index finger into his chest. “You would have been less than useless, and I couldn’t have saved both you and Mabel at the same time.”

“But we could have closed it sooner if you had let me help you,” he continued. “Then we could have avoided this entire thing.”

“Maybe,” admitted Pacifica, looking downcast. “But… I didn’t want you to do it. You’ve been through enough. And you always take the lead on things like this.”

“I can go through a lot more,” replied Dipper, lifting Pacifica’s chin as her heart began to beat loudly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Maybe I needed to prove something to myself,” replied Pacifica, lowering her head and gently removing Dipper’s hand. “That I deserved all of the times we have together.”

“Pacifica,” said Dipper, gently gathering her hands into his. “You’ve done that time and time again. I know you remember the golf balls. And you also got back me and Mabel’s faces back. That was pretty cool.”

“It was really cool,” said Mabel as she stood up and looked over the railing at the now empty dance floor. “Because then we wouldn’t have the eyes to see how awesome this looks.” Dipper turned around as well, and Pacifica stepped up to stand next to him.

The multicolored sparks that had come through the portal after the explosion hadn’t faded away. Instead, hundreds of them lay on the concrete like embers, turning the entire dance floor into a glowing artwork, shaped into arcing curves and racing stripes by the movement of air, and the pressure of the explosion. The house lights were still off, casting the entire building into an eerily intimate rainbow.

“Hey!” Mabel shouted down at the stage. “Are you guys still going to do the show?” Dipper and Pacifica peered down to see the members of the band emerge from their hiding places—the drummer had sheltered behind his kit, while the guitarist and pianist had dived underneath the grand piano and used the electric keyboards to barricade themselves in.

“What the hell was that?” said Ben as his head poked out from the piano.

“An interdimensional rift,” said Pacifica. “But we took care of it. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” they all responded in unison after looking themselves over.

“Good,” she continued reaching into her jacket and pulling out her black credit card. She dropped it off of the catwalk, and it fluttered onto the piano. “Because this is a private show now.” She grabbed Dipper’s hand and strode confidently off to the stairs, Dipper fumbling behind her. Mabel’s grin stretched from ear to ear as she followed.

After the arduous process of getting Dipper down the stairs—he insisted that he could do it himself, even as he winced with every other step—the trio emerged out onto the main floor. Jesse, Tommy, and Ben had resumed their places at their instruments.

“So,” Ben said from behind the piano, “what do you guys want to hear? Do you know our songs?”

“I know your songs!” shouted Mabel as Jesse winked at her again.

“How about this,” said Pacifica, striding up to the stage and pulling herself onto it. She walked to the back of the stage and grabbed a spare microphone, testing it to make sure it worked. “We’re going to do a little karaoke. You just try to keep up.”

Mabel’s eyes grew wide with happiness as Pacifica lowered her head and took a deep breath. Now, and only now, was she thankful that Mabel had forced her to listen to their music in the car.

 _"Hey,”_ she sang out, her voice resounding throughout the space. As good as she was when she upstaged Mabel for the Party Crown, she had gotten even better since then. _“Yeah we’re just getting started,”_ she continued as the band members recognized the song and raced to get into key, beginning with Ben on the keyboards before bringing in the piano. Tommy rushed to get to his bass guitar, while Jesse started clapping, with Mabel soon joining in.

 _“Take your fears, and let them go. For the lovers and the broken-hearted, take a deep breath, make the world a little colorful.”_ There was no doubt in Dipper’s mind that she was singing directly to him. He stepped up to the stage, his limp kicking up tiny rainbows with every step. He extended his hand to Pacifica, and she took it as she dropped down to his level, him now looking down at her.

 _“Wanna feel like a light in a dark place, another color in a world of black and white, wanna try to paint the world in a new way, left home with a dream and a…”_ she trailed off as Dipper took the mic from her. She looked up at him expectantly, eyes shining. He started to croak a note, but stopped to clear his throat. Then, loud and deep, his voice echoed along the dance floor as Pacifica took a step closer.

 _“I feel sick, I can’t focus. I wanna catch your eye, want you to notice—please tell me what you’re thinking… because I’ve got this sinking feeling…”_ Dipper crooned, stepping back with his left foot and spinning Pacifica around, kicking up sparks with her hair swirling behind her.

The members of the band suddenly freaked out, everyone trying to switch instruments as quickly as possible, going to the tambourine and electric guitar as Ben tried to provide backup vocals for Dipper. Karaoke was one thing, but switching songs in the middle was quite another. As they rushed around, Mabel made her way up onto the stage and climbed on top of the piano.

 _“I’m doing fine, minus the fear…”_ continued Dipper, _“that you could just up and disappear. Got your name it’s ringing in my ear—you make me feel like I’m gonna die. N-n-n-n-Northweeeeeest!”_

“That’s not how the song goes, you moron,” chuckled Pacifica, grabbing onto Dipper’s arms. “It’s D-d-d-d-Diane.”

“Would you rather I be singing another girl’s name right now?” he asked with a smirk.

“Do it and I’ll rip your throat out,” smiled Pacifica as she took the lead, grabbing the microphone from Dipper.

 _“You make me feel like I’m alive,”_ she sang, causing the band to fumble as she skipped an entire stanza of the song. _“You make me feel like I’m the only one—”_

 _“—and although you smile back,”_ sang Dipper, taking the mic back from her, _“I don’t even think you know my name. Problem is I love you just the same…”_

“Boo,” Mabel said to Ben, from atop the piano, looking down at him. “Why are they picking these songs? They’re so weird.”

“Hey, we did write those, you know,” Ben replied as Dipper and Pacifica continued spinning on the floor, kicking up multicolored sparks. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he tried to keep up with the lyrical jumps they were making.

“I didn’t say they were bad,” said Mabel, tapping on a random key. “Just weird. I’ll tell you what they really need!” she said, excitedly. “Do you guys know ‘Simple as 1 2 3’?”

“We wrote that one too,” he said with a smile.

“In that case, hit it!” said Mabel as she sat up on the piano. She pulled Ben’s microphone up to her mouth as he started to wind down ‘Diane,’ and began the easy rhythm of Mabel’s song. He pulled the microphone back to himself, leaving it midway between them and giving Mabel a stern look. Dipper and Pacifica continued to sway as they looked at the stage in confusion. Ben and Mabel began to sing.

 _“Someone walks in,”_ they began together, _“feels different in a moment.”_ Pacifica’s jaw dropped.

“Wow,” she mumbled as Dipper rested his head on hers. “Mabel actually can sing on key when she wants to. Why did she subject us to her just bellowing the lyrics, then?”

“I think Ben might be helping her out some,” he chuckled. “Still, she’s not bad.”

 _“When it begins,”_ they continued, _“everything you touch is golden.”_ Dipper now pulled Pacifica much more closely to him, wrapping his right arm around her waist, properly. His left hand interlaced with her fingers as he led, taking them on a gentle spiral around the glistening, shimmering floor, casting all of their movements in a glowing light.

_“And when you feel your pulse, knock you over like an animal, oh, then you know, take a deep breath and off you go!”_

_“It’s as simple as a girl in a corner,”_ Pacifica breathed along with those on stage. _“One, two, three.”_

 _“It’s as simple as a boy in a corner,”_ replied Dipper, his voice catching, _“when he wants the same thing.”_

 _“It’s as simple as walking over,”_ they both sang together as they looked up and into each other’s eyes, their voices fading in their throats as their hearts leapt to take their place. Even in the dim light, Dipper could see Pacifica’s blush, and she could see his. She could feel Dipper shaking, and not entirely from his limp.

 _"And saying something quick, before the chance is over,”_ Mabel and Ben sang together. Dipper reached up and lifted Pacifica’s chin, pulling her face to his. This time, she didn’t move his hand.

 _“Here you go!”_ screamed Mabel as she tore the microphone away from Ben, over his protests. _“One-two-THREE!”_

Perfectly on cue, Dipper slightly bent his knees as Pacifica pushed up to him, closing the inches between them as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned back as her soft lips met his chapped ones, but soon pushed back in earnest. He would need to bring more lip balm.

“Finally!” said Mabel to Ben as he stood up and took the microphone back from her. She handed it over without resistance. “They’ve been needing to do that for a while. I can die happy now.” She then turned around, and completely ignoring the pianist and guitarist, headed back to annoy the drummer.

Ben returned to the piano and picked up right where he left off, singing as Dipper and Pacifica swayed together.

 _“So take a risk,”_ he continued, _“and find a little love. Hidden where you didn’t see it, cause the time you have is all the time you’ve got.”_

Finally, Dipper and Pacifica parted, foreheads pressed against each other as they took ragged breaths. A tear fell from Pacifica’s eye and traced her cheek, which Dipper wiped away.

“So,” she said, smiling tentatively. “Are we a thing?”

“I know we’re a thing,” said Dipped with a smile, causing Pacifica to kiss him again—even though it was tough to do with both of them smiling so widely. Dipper grabbed Pacifica by the waist and lifted her up, spinning her around and churning up a wave of rainbow fire, leaving them in an epicenter of darkness.

As Ben sang on, he ran through his repertoire of love songs. Mabel joined him for some, but mostly sat back with Jesse on the drums, only popping up occasionally to request a particular ballad. Dipper and Pacifica, once spinning, soon tired and began swaying in the center of the dance floor—Dipper’s hands on Pacifica’s waist, her hands on his shoulders and her head resting against his chest, feeling with her cheek the same pulse she had felt with her hands after the dyre attack.

They likely would have stayed there all night, but the band was beginning to run down. Also, the fire marshal finally showed up due to the people fleeing earlier, and the undying embers on the floor. The trio decided to head out before they could be detained for questioning—but not before Mabel had the band sign her dismembered sweater sleeve, one end glued shut with alien adhesive. It would be a better memento of the night than adding it to another sweater.

Dipper and Pacifica needed no such souvenir—they had each other.


	14. Soup

The lights of Seattle were glowing outside exactly as they had been when the trio had first entered The Crocodile—they were only augmented by the legions of flashing red and blue sirens on the fire trucks and police cars. For Dipper, this served as a perfect example of why rifts that were close to civilization needed to be closed as quickly as possible—though this was not the foremost topic on his mind.

“So, it took both of you almost dying in the span of two days to finally do it,” said Mabel, walking backwards in front of Dipper and Pacifica, who were walking hand in hand down the sidewalk back to the truck. “Plus a lot of Mabel magic.”

“I think the Mabel magic probably slowed the process down,” said Pacifica pointedly. “But I can’t argue with the results,” she continued as she looked up at Dipper, who gently bonked her on the head.

“Of course,” said Dipper, “this means that Pacifica and I get to help you find a boyfriend now. It’s only fair.”

“You don’t have my natural talent for flirting,” replied Mabel, turning around and flipping her hair as she did so.

“And you don’t have my natural talent for self-defeating mind loops,” said Dipper. “But only one of us here has a princess on their arm.”

“Blech,” said Mabel, fake vomiting. “I’m sick of this already.”

“Get used to it,” replied Pacifica.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any hot cousins, would you?” asked Mabel, curiously.

“First off, gross. And secondly, no. None that are worth dealing with, anyway.” By this time, they had arrived back at the truck. They all clambered in, and the engine roared to life.

Dipper, the least sore after the events of the evening, drove to their hotel for the night. It was out of the city center, but still close enough to smell the water if the wind was right. It actually deserved the title of an “inn,” unlike the motel in Astoria.

The building was a small white house, with a tall brown fence surrounding it. There was free parking in the alleyway out back, and three bedrooms within the house itself. The keys were in a lockbox by the front door, which Pacifica retrieved after punching in the code she had gotten when she booked the place.

The interior of the house was brightly lit, and each bedroom had a private bath painted with red walls and a heated towel rack. At the head of each queen sized bed was a massive mural of Seattle that took up almost the entire wall. A kitchen and a single bedroom were on the ground floor, while two bedrooms were upstairs. Dipper took the one downstairs, while the girls headed up. It had been a very long day, and they each needed to unwind some. Thankfully, the house was equipped with a continuous hot water heater, so no one wound up with a cold shower.

As the hot water poured over Pacifica’s hair, which she massaged a cool lavender shampoo into, along with copious amounts of conditioner, she couldn’t shake the smile off of her face. Three years of spiraling into each other’s orbits had finally ended in a crash of extremely romantic proportions. She couldn’t have written it better if she had tried.

Perhaps Paris would have been more romantic. But, she contemplated, Seattle was probably better. It was more closely tied to the environment that had brought them together—the mysterious land that had called Dipper to investigate it, and for her to be investigated. Paris was overplayed, anyway.

Besides, romance isn’t tied to a place. It’s really just acting for another person out of love in an extraordinary way, so that they know the action is for them, and them alone. And she believed that love was what they had.

She didn’t really know what love was, of course. She doubted that anyone did, really, but she certainly hadn’t seen a lot of it. She hadn’t felt it from her parents, and she hadn’t seen it in their actions towards each other. But Pacifica felt warmer in Dipper’s arms than the hottest shower could ever make her, and that must count for something.

Love is an exercise in understanding, after all. Understanding someone else and their story—who they are—and then acting accordingly. That’s all it is, over and over—people understanding each other, constantly and uniquely, until death do them part.

 _“Until death do them part,”_ played expressly in her mind as she turned the shower off and reached out of the shower for a towel. She was too young to think like that, as she chased the thought from her head. She would have fun now, and contemplate that later—not that she minded.

She toweled herself off and stepped into her bedroom, going through her suitcase to pick out a fresh pair of pajamas—it was a three day trip, and she had brought a full-sized suitcase worth of clothing. She donned an oversized pale green t-shirt before pulling on a long, flowing gray cashmere cardigan and a matching pair of pants. Then, with a precision that only came from practice, she splayed her hair out onto a tower and wrapped it up on top of her head to dry it out.

She needed to sleep, she knew, but she was restless. So much had happened, and she needed to talk about it, just to revel in the experience, the feeling. She was also very thirsty, having not had anything to drink since the cappuccino, and having gone through a life-threatening full body workout since then.

She stepped back into the bathroom and leaned close to the mirror, applying some eye drops and then removing her contacts before slipping her glasses on. She tossed the case back into her suitcase, made sure she had the keys to her room, and then headed down to the kitchen to get some water.

The fluorescent overhead lights to the kitchen were on, so she was expecting Mabel or Dipper to also be there to get a drink. What she didn’t expect was to see Dipper sitting on the counter with his injured leg splayed out in front of him, bent over and straining to reach it with the first aid supplies that were sitting next to him. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts and a white t-shirt, the same as in Astoria—his milk chocolate hair was stained to a richer shade of cacao, wet from his recent shower.

“Oof,” said Pacifica as she stepped into the light, looking at how her handiwork was holding up. Dancing and almost chasing Pacifica and Mabel into the other dimension hadn’t torn apart the scab, but there were some thin red lines running through it. Her stitches were now only about half visible, embedded as they were in the congealed blood. “Does that hurt?”

“No more than it did before,” replied Dipper, looking up at her. “Your stitches have put up with a lot. I know I haven’t exactly been the best patient in the world.”

“That’s because you don’t stick with the bedrest,” said Pacifica, taking her cardigan off and draping it over the back of a chair as she picked up the first aid supplies—she didn’t want to get any blood or skin bits on it. She gently pushed Dipper back, causing him to rest on his palms. She then turned her attention to his leg.

The natural process of healing was going well—by the time they got back to Gravity Falls, he would probably be in good enough shape for her to take the stitches out. She didn’t want him going back to Piedmont with them and having to explain to his parents what had happened. After what all had happened the first summer, it was probably a good idea not to give them any more reasons to be skeptical of Gravity Falls.

Pacifica squeezed out a tiny dab of antibacterial cream onto her fingertip and smeared it on the wound. It felt rough under her touch, but the beginnings of pink new skin were already beginning to creep across it. After that, she pulled out a fresh roll of bandages and began unwinding it—first around her hand, and then around Dipper’s leg, covering the scab in multiple layers. It had stooped oozing blood long ago, but it was best to keep it covered.

“That’s not too tight, is it?” she asked as she sealed the bandage off with a piece of medical tape.

“It’s perfect,” said Dipper, only half looking at the bandage. As Pacifica moved to pack away the first aid kit, Dipper sat up, with his legs dangling off of the counter while Pacifica sat on a chair beneath him.

“So,” he said, attempting to be nonchalant. “What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

As he asked the question, Pacifica felt an electric tingle run down her spine, causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end. That question had so many implications—not all of which she didn’t like. She felt a pit growing in her stomach, even as blood flushed her extremities and her heart leapt into her throat. She tried to keep her breathing steady. She became acutely aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and that she was in a very large t-shirt with a fairly wide neck opening.

“I’m going to go to bed,” she said, standing up. “I almost died today, and would like to recover from that before I have a complete mental breakdown. Because as wonderful as you are,” she said, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, “it wasn’t you who blew up a giant evil mutant starfish octopus.”

“That’s fair,” said Dipper, half in acknowledgement at what she was saying, and half in confusion. “I’ll see you tomorrow Paz.”

“Paz?” asked Pacifica, turning around to look at Dipper as she made her way out of the kitchen and back to the staircase.

“It’s a better nickname than Northwest,” said Dipper, shrugging. “And I want something to call you.”

“In that case,” smiled Pacifica, “I suppose Paz will work, Dipstick.” He shook his head, chuckling as Pacifica left the room.

As soon as she was out of Dipper’s line of sight, she bent over and took three deep breaths, almost shaking. She couldn’t handle this. What had she been thinking? There were implications. Things to be done. Things to not be done. Maybe she just needed to sleep, she thought as she headed up the stairs, hand firmly locked on the handrail.

Once she got to the second floor, however, she didn’t go straight to her room. Instead, she paused as she passed by Mabel’s closed door. Pacifica knew that Mabel wasn’t to be trusted, since she could tell Dipper anything, but she needed someone to talk to. Besides, things had changed now—and Mabel hadn’t completely ruined their official getting-together. Pacifica took a deep breath as she turned and knocked on the door in four quiet raps. No need to let Dipper know what she was doing.

A few seconds passed before Mabel opened the door tentatively, only cracking it wide enough to show her eye.

“Yeeeeeeees?” she asked in a drawn out voice as Pacifica rolled her eyes.

“Look, can we talk?” asked Pacifica, whispering.

“Ooh, relationship drama already,” said Mabel with a glimmer in her eye. “Give me a second to undo the locks.” Mabel then proceeded to close the door and make a series of clicking noises with her mouth as Pacifica stood there impatiently, tapping her foot—there were, of course, no locks.

As she walked into the room, Pacifica assessed the space. It looked much like her room, if a little bit smaller. Mabel was in the same pajamas she had been wearing in Astoria, though she appeared to have more than enough clothes—her suitcase was open on the desk, and its contents had been thrown all over the floor. Three balls of yarn were rolled out on the bed, and a half-finished sweater sat in the center of it.

"Tell your problems to Dr. Mabel,” she said as she closed the door behind Pacifica. She then charged towards the bed and leapt into the air, flopping onto it and sitting up as she picked up her knitting needles. Pacifica moved more hesitantly, sitting down gently on the bed before drawing her legs up and crossing them.

Pacifica sat there in silence for a few moments, just thinking. What were her problems, specifically? She finally had Dipper, and he had her, after three years of dates that weren’t quite dates, adventures that weren’t quite couple-only, and of being a thing that wasn’t a thing, but too much of a thing to not be a thing. They had put in the time, they had worked, they had earned this.

All she had to do now was be a girlfriend, and he had to be a boyfriend—it was reciprocal, after all. She would personally prefer that he be a good one, and she was certain he hoped the same of her. How hard could it be to be a good girlfriend, after all? Nothing was actually going to change. They would still be friends—but more. It was the more that worried her.

“I have no idea what to do now,” she said, bluntly, after taking a deep breath. “Absolutely none. My life has always been about getting stuff. About winning, getting the property, the trophy, the highest grade. And when you get those things, all you have to do is put them on a shelf. I have three trophy cases at home. I’m not the one that keeps them shiny—the housekeeper dusts them.”

“Impressive,” said Mabel, as her knitting needles began to clack with a speed almost like that of a typewriter. Pacifica could barely follow the moves she was making with the yarn. “I once won a ribbon from the Felt Manufacturers of America for being the youngest person to buy industrial quantities of felt,” she added, feeling that she had to one-up Pacifica. “I made a really big pair of pants with it.”

Pacifica knew when she was beat, so she acknowledged Mabel’s victory with a nod and moved on, bringing a smile to her’s face before continuing.

“But people aren’t the same as that,” continued Pacifica. “They’re not like trophies—at least, most of them aren’t. My mom might be an exception. But I don’t think I can leave Dipper on a shelf—not that I want to. I feel like I have to take care of him.”

“Of course you have to take care of him,” said Mabel, as though it was something obvious. “That’s what boyfriends and girlfriends do for each other. He brings you chicken noodle soup when you’re sick, and you bring him fancier chicken-noodle soup when he’s sick. On Valentine’s Day, he gives you cheap store bought chocolate, and you give him better Swiss chocolate. If he’s smart, he’ll save it for a year and regift it back to you so it looks like he spent more than he did, but I don’t know if he’s that clever. You text each other all the time, and spend hours on the phone just listening to each other breathe. And he lets you win at video games so you can feel like you’re doing something together.”

“Dipper could never beat me in _Bloodcraft_ unless I let him,” said Pacifica, a grin twinging the corners of her mouth. “And I’m not that nice. But let me point out that you’ve also done none of those things,” said Pacifica, pointing out that Mabel had a lack of real-world experience with being in a proper relationship.

“And I’ve never been to Mars either,” fired back Mabel, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it looks like. It’s a bunch of red rocks and really cute robots.” Pacifica fell back onto the bed and pulled a pillow over her face before groaning loudly into it.

“Look,” continued Mabel, “this all seems scary just because you’re new to it. You’ve never had a real boyfriend before. And look, I know about ‘monster-zoo’ private school kid, and he doesn’t count.”

“How do you know about that?” questioned Pacifica. She had never told anyone about him.

“Mabel has her ways,” she replied, smiling. “Mabel has her ways. So this means that this is your chance to make a good first impression as a girlfriend. You don’t have any vengeful exes trying to win you back, or anything tainting how you think about what a boyfriend should be. You’re a blank slate—the future is yours to write.”

“But I’m a garbage writer,” grumbled Pacifica, sitting up and holding the pillow in her lap. “You can only write what you know, and all I know is money and hurt. I don’t want to be like my parents, but when it comes to this, I don’t know how else to be.”

“Have you never seen any romantic movies before?” asked Mabel, following a temporary pause in the clacking of her knitting needles. “Like that one about the boat and the necklace and the painting and the car. That one’s good.” Pacifica considered taking the opportunity to tell Mabel about how the Titanic ended, but decided against it—she was holding two sharp and stabby bits of metal, after all.

“Not really,” sighed Pacifica. “And every time my parents and I watched something, my dad would just talk over it the whole time about how love was dumb and point out all the potential moneymaking opportunities the characters were giving up by running away for each other. ‘Emotion is a diminishing return,’ as he always said.”

“Girl,” snapped Mabel, violently clacking the needles. “Step one is that you and I are going to have some movie nights together so we can talk about this. So much romance you have yet to experience. But, Pacifica,” she continued, leaning forward and looking into her eyes, “I need you to know that there is absolutely nothing you can say or do that will scare Dipper away from you.”

“I’ve scared away plenty of people before,” grumbled Pacifica.

“But not him,” fired back Mabel. “He’s stood beside you through everything—ghosts and golf balls and apocalypses and exorcisms and face stealing goblins. He knows about your family history and all the things that they’ve done, to other people and to you. He knows about… the bell.” Pacifica shivered. “He knows about all of that, and he’s still here. And you aren’t those things—you aren’t your family.”

“I know,” said Pacifica, quietly. “But they’re always there in the back of my head. Nagging, poking, prodding, ringing, ringing, ringing, telling me what to do, what not to do. Sometimes I just want it to stop so, so badly.” She started to sniffle, and Mabel reached into the half-finished sweater and pulled out a tissue and handed it to her. “And it’s not like I can escape the Northwest name. Everyone knows it, no matter where we go. I might not be them, but I am _of_ them.”

"Dipper knows that too,” said Mabel sympathetically. “There’s only so much you can ever do to separate yourself from your past, and it’s impossible to run away from family—unless you really, really try. Dipper doesn’t want your family, though—he wants you, and he wants to help you crack that Northwest shell to get as much of you out and free as possible. Dipper’s garbage at art, but it’s kind of like a sculpture—a sculpture made of Northwest clay, but shaped and fired and painted into something completely new, beautiful, and different.”

“You may be a better therapist than you are romance counselor,” replied Pacifica, drying the tears from her eyes.

“That’s the most insulting thing you’ve ever said to me,” said Mabel, pretending to be offended. “Just remember that I was there when the two of you wound up together. I’m not saying that my presence caused it, but it’s an interesting thing to consider.”

“Still,” said Pacifica, rocking a little bit, “that doesn’t solve the problem of what I need to do as a girlfriend now. I can try to… bring him fancy soup, but that’s just a guess. It’s a thing I’d be doing, but I don’t know why it matters.”

“It matters because it shows that you care,” said Mabel, continuing to knit. “But if you would like, let me let you in on another secret—Dipper has only kissed one person before he kissed you tonight.”

“Who was it?” said Pacifica, already feeling the green tide of jealously rising in her veins.

“A merman in the Gravity Falls pool,” said Mabel, before breaking out into laughter at Pacifica’s confused and appalled face.

“Relax,” said Mabel, trying to control herself. “It wasn’t like that. He was giving him reverse-CPR. I actually still have a picture of it somewhere.”

“A funny side story,” said Pacifica, shaking her head, “but what does that have to do with anything?”

“The point is that Dipper’s never kissed a girl before tonight,” said Mabel, poking Pacifica in the chest with the blunt end of her knitting needles and causing Pacifica to blush. “So he has no idea what he’s doing either. I’m surprised you couldn’t tell by how bad the kiss was.”

“I thought it was a fine kiss…” said Pacifica, practically whispering to herself.

“That’s because you also have no idea what a good kiss is,” replied Mabel.

“Oh, and you do?” asked Pacifica.

“More than you do,” Mabel fired back. “Dipper wasn’t the only one who kissed the merman,” she added with a wink. Pacifica shuddered. “The point is that literally anything you do for Dipper is going to be something strange and new for him. He has no point of comparison. You’re the best girlfriend he’s ever had.”

“By that logic, I’m also the worst girlfriend he’s ever had,” replied Pacifica.

“I don’t think that’s right,” continued Mabel. “You can only be the worst girlfriend if there’s something you ought to do as a girlfriend that you’re not doing—like not supporting him, or just bringing him regular chicken noodle soup instead of the fancy kind. But he also has no idea what it is that he wants in a girlfriend. You’re so important to him. You can write the rulebook.”

“He may have a better idea than he realizes right now,” said Pacifica, leaning her head back against the mural on the wall. “He’s probably still woozy from blood loss and the trauma of the past two days. Rose-tinted glasses.”

“What makes you think that Dipper knows anything about what he wants?” asked Mabel curiously. “I’ve known him longer than anyone, and let me tell you—he’s smart, but he’s also an idiot.”

“This is going to sound dumb,” said Pacifica, looking down at the sheets.

“This is girl talk,” said Mabel earnestly. “Everything is open. Even the dumbness.” Pacifica sighed.

“The redhead,” said Pacifica as Mabel’s face fell. “What was her name? Wanda? I know that she and Dipper aren’t a thing, and never were a thing, but he just fell for her in a way that he never did for me. Our thing was more gradual, and she just sucked him in.”

“That’s because Dipper was a hormonal little boy,” said Mabel, trying to stifle a laugh while at the same time be compassionate and understanding. “She was his first real crush, and those first feelings are always the strongest just because you can’t control them yet.”

“But there must have been _something_ about her,” replied Pacifica, waving her hands in the air for emphasis. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have spent all those months freaking out about her.”

“It was less than three months in total, Pacifica,” said Mabel, reaching out and patting her on the knee. “And that was three summers ago. Besides, Wendy met that girl in Eugene. She’s taken. Any feelings that Dipper has are concentrated towards you and you alone.”

“I just wonder if I need to try to do something to be more like her,” asked Pacifica, to herself as much as to Mabel. “Maybe dye my hair red.”

“You don’t need to dye your hair any more than you already do,” said Mabel, earning a harsh glare from Pacifica. “Maybe a lake-foam green streak, or something bluish, but not your whole head. All you need to do is be you.”

“All-natural blonde me, you mean,” replied Pacifica, taking the towel off of her head and letting her still slightly damp hair roll down her back—natural blonde indeed. “I just don’t think I could ever be as cool as Wendy,” she sighed.

“No one could be as cool as Wendy,” admitted Mabel. “Definitely not Dipper. That’s why it never would have worked. You have to approach a relationship from relatively equal coolness levels.”

“Not to insult your brother or anything,” smirked Pacifica, “but I am way cooler than he is.”

“Nah,” replied Mabel, confidently. “You’re both equally situated on the scale of dorkitude. You’re just better at hiding it.”

“Different kinds of dorkiness,” demanded Pacifica. “At least give me that.”

“Your wish has been granted,” said Mabel, bowing to Pacifica dramatically. There were a few moments of silence before Pacifica spoke again, only interrupted by the rapid clacking of Mabel’s needles.

“I don’t want him to hate me,” she said, continuing on before Mabel had a chance to speak. “I know he doesn’t hate me now, and I know he doesn’t want to hate me. I just don’t want there to be any seeds in what we have between us that could grow and drive us apart.”

“Why would there be seeds?” said Mabel, curiously. “You two get along great. You both want this.”

“We think we both want this,” correct Pacifica. “Even if Dipper is saying that he knows what he wants, he doesn’t know what I want—and I can’t get out of my head the worm of the idea that I don’t really know what he wants either. Maybe I put the onus on him too much and forced him into getting together. It’s probably just a matter of time before he realizes that he doesn’t really like me.” Pacifica brought the pillow up to her mouth and bit into it in frustration, shaking it back and forth as best she could.

“Pacifica, calm down,” said Mabel, reassuringly. “This is another time where you need to listen to me, because I’ve known Dipper for way longer than you have. He does not do anything unless he is _certain_ about it—or at least has done the calculations and found that it’s a risk worth taking. I’ve seen the sheets in his room. He writes down ‘what-if’s’ and lists and decision trees and multiplies the odds on everything. And that’s just what he puts on paper. It’s how his brain works—if he’s with you, it’s because he wants to be with you.”

“You say that, but I just don’t know,” sighed Pacifica. “I want to know.”

“You can’t know,” replied Mabel, sadly. “We can’t ever really know. All we can do is understand. But trust me when I say that the ball is very much in your court. Be there for Dipper and he’ll be there for you.”

“And I should be there for him by doing all those things with the fancy soup and the chocolate?”

“The fancy soup more than the chocolate. But definitely talk to him. Like I said, he doesn’t really know what he wants. He’ll love anything you do for him.”

“I feel like he might know some things that he wants,” said Pacifica, hiding her face behind the pillow.

“This isn’t about Wendy again, is it?” asked Mabel, concerned.

“No,” blushed Pacifica. “It’s about the… typical things that guys want.”

“Oh,” said Mabel, before realizing the implications and scrunching her face up. “Oh, ew. It’s Dipper. Come on.”

“I know it’s probably weird to talk about this because he’s your brother and all that,” said Pacifica, still hiding behind the pillow.

“It is,” chimed in Mabel.

“But I feel like there might be some… obligation on my part. It’s a thing that couples do. And that part I’m really worried about,” finished Pacifica.

“Pacifica, like I said, it’s Dipper. He’s doesn’t have the confidence to even ask you to do something like that, let along force you to.”

“I’m not worried about him forcing me,” yelped Pacifica. “I know him. He’s too good for that. It’s just… I don’t know how to even go about something like that if it does come up.”

“And here’s where my expertise runs out,” said Mabel, blushing as well. “If you want to do something for him and go on a journey of self-exploration on your own terms, do it. But also know that it’s Dipper you’re dealing with. It was tough enough to get him to kiss you—even now that you’re a thing there are probably still some walls there. I guess the question is just if you want to break them or leave them up.”

“I don’t know,” said Pacifica, lowering the pillow. “It means something else to me when I say ‘It’s Dipper’ than it does when you say it. It’s something different. Something I… wouldn’t mind, necessarily. It’s an expression of love, after all. But it’s a push that I’m not sure I feel ready for.”

“Then don’t push him, and don’t push yourself,” said Mabel matter-of-factly. “Because you can’t push him, and he doesn’t want to push you. And if you push each other too much, you might find yourself doing a very different kind of pushing in nine months,” Mabel winked.

“We’re not idiots,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “There are lines. And I’m a Northwest, after all.”

“And there are above-the-belt things to do as well,” smirked Mabel as Pacifica chucked the pillow at her, laughing. Suddenly, they froze as there was a knock at the door.

“Mabel? Are you in there?” asked Dipper from outside. “Pacifica’s not answering her door.”

“See?” Mabel whispered, throwing the pillow back at Pacifica. “He’s worried about you. Now go to him. And if you do decide to have some fun, keep it quiet.”

“Nothing’s going to happen tonight,” said Pacifica as she stood up, pulled the cardigan around herself, and walked to the door. “I’m tired, he’s tired. We’re all tired. And we need a little time to process, alone and together. No individual pushing.” Pacifica took a breath as she grabbed the doorknob.

“She’s not answering because she’s in here,” said Pacifica as she opened the door for Dipper.

“Oh, hi,” he said, stuttering. His mind clearly wondered what she and Mabel had been talking about, causing Mabel to chuckle. “I just came up here to ask if you still had the Weslee. I wanted to check some of the numbers on it.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Pacifica, stepping outside. She wasn’t sure if he only came up to get the Weslee, or if he was also using it as an excuse to check up on her. She didn’t mind the latter. “Good night, Mabel,” she called out to her confidant as she closed the door. Mabel waved her knitting needles in response.

“It should still be in my jacket,” continued Pacifica to Dipper as they walked down the hall to her room. Pacifica opened the door, found her jacket, and retrieved the Weslee while Dipper stayed leaning against the doorframe. He took it from her gently, and held it in both hands as he continued to lean.

“Paz, is everything okay?” he asked, concerned. “You seem… frayed.” Pacifica sighed.

“I am frayed,” she answered, honestly. “I’ve been through a lot, and I just need a little bit of time to process. But we can talk about it tomorrow, I promise. But as for now…” she reached up and grabbed Dipper by the collar of his shirt, pulling him in for a deep surprise kiss. Though his lips were softer than before, having recently been balmed, she supposed Mabel was right—the kiss could have been better. But all that meant was that they needed to practice. “…go to bed,” she continued, winking at him as she stepped back and closed the door.

She stood there, ear pressed against the door, until she heard Dipper’s footsteps fade away down the hall. She took a deep breath—a lot had been said tonight, and she needed to sleep on it. She leapt onto the bed like Mabel had before, free in her own space, and pulled the covers over herself. She listened to the gentle hum of the air conditioner as she thought.

Dipper really, really liked her. That much she knew, or at least thought she knew. She was reasonably certain. She was going to try to be the best girlfriend that she could for him, by pushing and by not pushing, and by serving the fanciest soup she could make. And she was sure that he was going to try to be the best boyfriend that he could be for her as well—she imagined, not entirely inaccurately, that he was having a conversation with himself similar to the one that she had just had with Mabel. They would need to talk about their wants, about their lines, and about lots of things… but she was certain above all that they were going to try, together.


	15. Ripples

“It looks like it should be a lot closer than it actually is,” said Pacifica, reclining against the window of the truck. Dipper had his arm hanging from the window again as he drove, with Mabel laying in the backseat throwing her phone in the air and catching it, grunting whenever she missed and it fell back onto her face.

“That just goes to show how big it is!” replied Dipper. The trio was currently heading towards Mt. Rainier, which dominated the horizon even more now than it did back in Seattle—they had left early in the morning, after a quick breakfast, and had spent the past hour and a half heading for the volcano.

As they drew closer, the roads narrowed again to simple two lane stretches of pavement that coursed and curved along the sides of the hills—they weren’t mountains, not yet. There were lots of places where the road ran next to a vertical cliff face, the rock only held back by a complex net of wire mesh. But everywhere they looked, Mt. Rainier dominated the horizon.

It stretched up to the sky, glistening in the sunlight and gaining more detail as they drew closer, gently fading from the bluish gray that it had appeared to be from the ferry. It was summer, so the snowline was fairly high up on the mountain, though the glaciers around the slopes meant that patches of white existed year-round.

“Have you ever been skiing before?” asked Pacifica, craning her neck backwards to look at Mabel. This had been a late minute addition to their travel plans, but Pacifica had insisted on it after seeing the mountain yesterday. Besides, she had had enough of the hot Gravity Falls summer and wanted to do something with the twins in the cold weather before they left—there was so much to do and to see in the winter, and the week that they were able to come up from Piedmont during Christmas break every year wasn’t nearly enough time—especially when they also had to see Soos, Candy, and Grenda, and Dipper had to do science stuff.

“Of course,” said Mabel confidently. “I’m the best at it.”

“Let me clarify,” said Dipper, tapping the steering wheel as he pulled the truck around a tight curve. The mountain loomed before them. “We have done cross-country skiing, on flat ground. Never down a real hill before.”

“Then this is going to be so much fun,” grinned Pacifica, rubbing her hands together menacingly. She had never skied on Mt. Rainier before, but she had done it in the Alps during a family vacation, slash business trip. Sergei had also made mini-golfing while skiing part of his training regimen—which Pacifica had thought was odd, but she couldn’t argue with the results.

As they inched closer to the mountain, the sides of the road began to be populated by little one room cabins for rent, as well as skiing supply stores. Pacifica hadn’t brought skis, since she didn’t expect to end up here, but she had gone on her phone and found out that they rented them at the highest outpost on the volcano—Paradise.

The road, once curving, turned into a long straightaway as Dipper closed the final miles to the park. A large wooden arch made of fallen fir trees marked the border of the park, with a sign hanging from it reading ‘Nisqually Entrance.’ Dipper joined a queue of three cars at the ranger station waiting to get through. He pulled out his wallet, and took out enough cash to pay for parking. Before Pacifica even had a chance to reach into her jacket for a credit card, Dipper had looked at her and shook his head, causing Pacifica to grin. It was dumb, of course, to want Dipper to pay for things when she was much more liquid than he was, but the gesture of chivalry was still very admirable.

The line moved quickly, and the trio were soon heading along the road to Paradise. The mountain now took up the entire left half of their view, as the pavement grew at an ever steeper incline. Both Pacifica and Mabel were flipping their heads back and forth between the windows, looking both up at the peak of the mountain and out at the other, much lesser peaks of the Cascade range.

Within twenty minutes, they had reached the outpost of Paradise—it consisted of a parking lot, a visitor center, an inn that it was almost impossible to get into without making a reservation months in advance, and a large map that pointed out all the different trails that could be taken. As they disembarked and Dipper locked the truck behind them, they all walked over to the map and tried to pick out the best route.

“Can we go to the top?” Mabel asked, excited. Indeed, there was a trail leading up to the peak, but it was marked with a lot of asterisks and legal stuff about how you needed a permit and how it was by far the most difficult trail.

“Not with my leg,” said Dipper, providing a convenient excuse. “It’s going to be bad enough for me trying to ski. I think our best move is to pick up the skis and then walk through the meadows up to the top of the Nisqually Glacier, and then we can ski down it back to the car.”

“I second that,” said Pacifica, briefly taking her hand out of her pocket to look at her nails with a smirk. “I mean, it’s a pretty easy route, but I guess I can do the same path as you beginners.”

Dipper shook his head as he gently leaned against Pacifica. “Let’s go and get the skis,” he said, walking towards the visitor’s center. “We need to try to get on the mountain before it gets too crowded. Plus, we’re stopping in Astoria again for tonight, and it’s a little bit of a drive away.”

The air outside was cool, but it was warm inside the visitor’s center. It was all made of natural wood, and there was a small theater that played a short movie about the history of the town of Paradise. Dipper stepped inside and sat down to watch it while Pacifica and Mabel went to the window where a tall girl with dark hair was manning the station.

“What can I help you with?” she asked in a surprisingly thick midwestern accent. “Skis, boots, helmets, poles?”

“Just skis and poles,” said Pacifica, reaching for her card.

“Just the two of you?” asked the girl as she turned to the back.

“No, us two and then one more,” replied Pacifica.

“What are your shoe sizes?” the girl asked.

“I’m an eight,” chirped Mabel, happily looking at all the different colors of skis.

“Six and a half,” replied Pacifica. Her feet might get a little bigger as she grew, but she had always been petite.

“What about the other one?” asked the lady as she took down a set of green skis and set them on the counter for Pacifica, and a pair of pink ones for Mabel.

“Men’s…” Pacifica began, before realizing that she actually didn’t know. “What’s Dipper’s shoe size?” she turned to ask Mabel.

“I’ll go ask him,” said Mabel bouncing away to the theater as Pacifica took care of paying. A few seconds later, she came back holding his shoe. “This big,” she said, plopping it on the counter.

“Why didn’t you just ask him?” said Pacifica as she pinched the shoe as gently as she could, grimacing as she pulled up the tongue to look at the size. Even from here, it didn’t smell great. “Twelve and a half,” she said, dropping the shoe on back on the counter.

“Get used to it,” said Mabel as she took her skis off of the counter, probably only referring to the smell. Probably.

As the lady returned with a pair of blue skis for Dipper and three sets of poles, Dipper came hobbling out of the theater looking for his shoe. He soon located the ski rental window and made his way over to the girls, trying to avoid stepping on the floor with his exposed sock, even though it put more pressure on his injured leg.

“What did you learn about Paradise?” asked Pacifica as Dipper slipped his shoe back on and then grabbed his skis.

"Not a lot,” admitted Dipper. “It used to be a hotel, and then they added a visitor center. It snows a lot here in the winter. That’s basically it.”

“I could have told you that much,” replied Pacifica as she picked up her skis and headed for the door, Dipper and Mabel following close behind her. The sun was shining as they stepped into the parking lot and began picking their way among the cars, making their way to the trail entrance.

It began as a wooden walkway, but soon turned into a gravel path as the trail climbed upwards. Dipper staggered as the gravel shifted under his feet, but he was capable of making it up. He said he wasn’t in pain, even though he winced whenever a particularly large rock gave way. Mabel and Pacifica stayed with him all the while, letting a few other groups pass by when they were moving faster than Dipper could.

However, Mabel couldn’t bear to keep moving at a slow pace when they rounded the top of the first hill and the landscape opened up over a small valley, filled with wildflowers. A meadow of pale blue and yellow, dappled in sunlight, with the occasional fuzzy bumblebee staggering between the flowers, drunk on pollen and honey. Mabel, dropping her skis every few steps, started to run through the meadow, frolicking like a spotted foal and leaving Dipper and Pacifica alone.

Pacifica, to Dipper’s left, gently shifted her skis to under her left arm and laced her right arm with Dipper’s, allowing them to lean on each other. That made it easier for Dipper to walk, and provided a convenient excuse for Pacifica to be close to him.

They carefully coordinated their steps as they continued walking. Pacifica lifted her head and looked around them—the groups that had passed them were very far ahead, and the only people behind them was a tour group of far slower senior citizens who had come for the flowers, not for the skiing. Mabel was a good distance away, bending down and popping up every so often as she inspected the flowers and bugs and other crawly things. Pacifica would stay on the gravel path.

Still, they were as alone as they were likely going to get for a while, and they needed to talk before the summer ended, and Dipper and Mabel returned to Piedmont. They couldn’t leave things hanging in the air like this if they wanted to be sure of each other.

“I have a question,” began Pacifica, tentatively.

“Fire away,” replied Dipper, tensing slightly. He knew it could be about something big, but it could also be innocuous. He was hedging his bets and not responding until he actually knew what was going on.

“Last night,” she said causing Dipper to tense again, “when you asked me what my plans were for the rest of the night… what exactly did you mean by that?” Dipper paused, taking the time to think over his possible responses.

“I meant,” he began tentatively, “that we had just become a thing like two hours ago. And I would have really liked to kiss you some more.”

“That’s it?” asked Pacifica, simultaneously disappointed and relieved.

“Well, kiss and maybe snuggle,” he continued, rocking slightly.

“I would have liked that…” replied Pacifica.

“I would have too,” Dipper sighed. “So I don’t get why you ran away after I said that. I mean, I get that you were tired, but then you spent an hour staying up talking with Mabel.”

“Oh, that was… nothing,” said Pacifica, a red tinge creeping into her face.

“I don’t think it was nothing,” continued Dipper. “It was something. It was something I did. And I don’t know what. We’d only been a thing for an hour,” he said as he began to pull his arm out of Pacifica’s, though she quickly pulled him back in. “And I knew my chances weren’t that good, but I didn’t think I’d be able to mess things up so badly in so little time. That’s like a new record.”

“It wasn’t you,” reassured Pacifica emphatically, even as Dipper’s eyes started to race around his head like they did when he was thinking.

“Then what was it?” he asked. “Because I spent hours last night trying to parse through what all we said, what all we did—maybe it was because I talked to Mabel before I talked to you after you closed that last rift. Or maybe I accidentally tripped you up too much on the dance floor.”

“None of that,” said Pacifica, beginning to become exasperated. If this is what she had sounded like to Mabel last night, she needed to go back and thank her for her patience.

“Or maybe because I tried to fix my leg on my own first instead of calling for you. You didn’t seem to have a problem with kissing before, and even… what little we did in Astoria kind of indicated you’d be up for snuggling, so that couldn’t have been it. It’s just something I don’t know, and it’s tapping like a drum in my head. My heartbeat, but much less… reassuring.”

“Dipper,” sighed Pacifica, briefly stopping and dragging him to a halt as they crested the top of the next hill. She looked behind him and saw Mabel making her way back to them, being as they weren’t very far from the top of the glacier.

“Look,” she blushed, unable to make eye contact with him. “I panicked last night because I thought you were talking about sex. That’s all.”

“Oh,” said Dipper, before adding a much more emphatic “Ohh!!”

“That explains a lot,” he continued, smacking his forehead. “I would have freaked out too.”

“Were you talking about sex?” asked Pacifica, hoping against hope for an honest ‘yes,’ even as she hoped against hope for an honest ‘no.’

“No, I wasn’t,” said Dipper, as they continued to walk, the blush now reaching up into his cheeks. “But if that was what you thought I meant; then why did you leave? I mean, not that I would have pushed the issue or anything if that had been what I meant, but we could have at least talked about it.” He hung his head.

Pacifica continued to walk as she thought about how this now looked from his end—his girlfriend, who he thought was turning down a make out session, had just told him that she had been turning down even the possibility of a conversation about anything more. It must have stung—but it also clearly wasn’t what she had meant.

“Dipper, I didn’t mean to make you think like that,” she said, trying to reassure him. “The idea was scary.”

“The idea is terrifying!” exclaimed Dipper. “But it’s still worth talking about. It’s something we should talk about, and I want you to be able to talk about it with me.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Pacifica, shrugging her shoulders.

“Wouldn’t mind what?” clarified Dipper.

“Talking about it,” answered Pacifica, turning to him. “And maybe some other things about it too.”

“Wow,” said Mabel as she joined the two of them. “The wind must have been really bad up here. You guy’s faces are so red. There was nothing but a gentle breeze down in the meadow.”

“Have you checked yourself for ticks?” asked Dipper, trying to redirect the conversation and control his breathing.

“Nope!” replied Mabel cheerily. “But I did bring you guys some flowers,” she said, handing each of them a bundle of purple and white wildflowers, peppered throughout with smaller pink ones.

“Mabel, I’m pretty sure these are endangered,” said Dipper as he gently set them down on the ground. “Besides, we’re going to be skiing.”

“Dipper, I assure you that taking a few wildflowers from a meadow is not the worst thing that a Northwest has ever done,” said Pacifica as she picked out the best flowers from her bunch and tucked them into her hair.

“See Dipper?” said Mabel as the three of them finally reached the top of the glacier. “Pacifica gets it.”

“Pacifica always gets it,” Pacifica added with a wink, causing Dipper to blush and Mabel to give her a thumbs up, each interpreting it in two very different ways.

“Now,” said Mabel as she set one of her skis down on the snow, “how do I put these ON!” She shouted the last syllable as the ski started to slide down the slope, causing her to have to jump belly first onto the ground to grab it. She dusted herself off as she stood back up.

“Carefully,” said Pacifica as she sat down on an exposed bit of rock and began lashing the skis to her feet as Mabel did the same. Dipper sat down and quickly affixed the ski to his right foot, but couldn’t quite bend enough to put the other onto his injured leg.

“Paz, do you think you could help with this?” he asked, handing her the ski. Pacifica stood up and, moving over the snow with the grace of a rabbit, went to Dipper’s foot and began lashing on the ski.

“Paz?” asked Mabel, with a curious grin. “So you’ve given her a nickname already, Dip?”

“Of course I have,” defended Dipper proudly. “She deserves one, after all.”

“Thanks Dipstick,” added Pacifica with a smile, causing Mabel to laugh. “You should be all good. Ready to go?” She extended a hand and helped Dipper to his feet. She handed him his poles as he started to slip, but he managed to anchor himself to the snow. Mabel was still sitting on the ground when Pacifica looked at Dipper’s face, only to find it masked with a strange expression of dread.

“What is it?” she asked, worried as Dipper reached into his jacket and pulled out the vibrating Weslee. Surely there couldn’t be another rift. There couldn’t be. They had already dealt with three, and almost died each time. Didn’t they deserve a break?

Suddenly, however, Dipper’s expression changed as his eyes lit up and a smile crept across his face. He started to tap buttons on the Weslee, and it was only a few moments before static started to be heard coming from it, as well as a familiar voice.

“Hi Grunkle Ford!” said Dipper as Pacifica took a deep breath of relief. It was easy to forget that the Weslee was a phone just as much as it was an omen of impending doom.

“Dipper!” crackled Ford’s voice over the connection. “Are you alright?”

“We’re all fine,” replied Dipper as Mabel stood up and, staggering like a newborn giraffe, joined Pacifica and Dipper in their huddle around the device. “Why?”

“I woke up this morning to some very strange readings on my machinery,” began Ford. “It’s generally able to home in on the biggest hotspot of weirdness energy in the world at any one time—it’s a lot stronger than the Weslees. Now, usually that spot is Gravity Falls. The only two exceptions were Weirdmageddon, which broke all of our weirdness records, and then the four-hundred-foot rift that Stanley and I just closed. But I picked up another spike from your region last night, and I was wondering if you had noticed anything odd going on.”

“Umm… there was another rift that opened in Seattle last night that we closed,” said Dipper. “About twenty feet long. But surely that couldn’t be the biggest spike in the world outside of Gravity Falls… maybe there’s something else going on.”

“No, wait a second,” said Ford, as a fumbling sound was heard on the other side of the line. He started to mumble to himself, and the scratch of a pencil on paper could be heard as he ran some calculations.

“This is interesting,” he continued, clearing his throat. “Weirdmageddon was 8,000 feet long. Then the next strongest rift was localized in the Arctic Ocean, the only other place on earth where the weirdness harmonics resonate like Gravity Falls, but even then, not nearly as strong. It was 400 feet long, twenty times as weak as the rift that Bill tore.”

“And if we assume that the closing of that rift sent out a similar pulse of weirdness energy,” said Dipper, his voice speeding up as he tracked onto the line of Ford’s argument, “it’s likely that the next point of emergence would be back at the other harmonic weirdness node—around Gravity Falls, but splayed out due to distance and still strong enough to overcome the Gravity Well!”

“And if we also assume,” continued Ford, “that the weirdness pulse decreases by a regular proportion each time, then that means that the next strongest rift, twenty times weaker than the 400 foot one, would only be about…”

“Twenty feet,” said Pacifica. “Exactly the length of the one we closed last night.” Mabel quickly fumbled to catch the Weslee as Dipped tossed it to her before waddling over to Pacifica as best he could and wrapping her in a hug. Pacifica was confused, but hugged him back, closing her eyes.

“Exactly right, Pacifica!” cheered Ford. “And if the pattern holds, then we can assume that a single foot long rift will open somewhere in the Arctic Ocean.”

“But,” said Dipper, pulling back and looking Pacifica in the eyes, “rifts are only sustainable when they’re bigger than a foot, which means it’ll collapse on itself!”

“Which means that the rift that you three closed last night was the last one!” said Ford happily. “The pulse of weirdness energy that Bill sent out when Weirdmageddon ended has finally been chased down and sealed away. I must applaud you three for putting the good of science, and the good of the world, over your weekend birthday trip. It must have been quite a sacrifice.”

“Not too much of one,” said Mabel, grinning. “We have some news for you too.”

Dipper and Pacifica, their heads snapping up and away from each other, tried to reach out to take the Weslee from Mabel, but were unable to get there in time before she bellowed into the microphone.

“Dipper and Pacifica are dating now!” she loudly smirked.

“What the hell?!?” sputtered Stan, from some distance away from the Weslee. “Who authorized this?” he said as he walked closer to where Ford was.

“You can’t authorize love, Grunkle Stan,” said Mabel as Dipper and Pacifica gave up their attempt to take the Weslee back. At this point, there wasn’t much more that Mabel could say.

“No, but I can authorize who I write into my will!” bellowed Stan, “And she’s not getting a penny!”

“She’s got plenty of pennies already, Stan,” chided Mabel, shaking her head with a smile. “Besides, you haven’t really talked with her since we were hurtling through the air with my lovely sweater parachutes. She’s gotten better since then.

“And Stanley, I still own the Shack,” said Ford. “What do you even have?”

“I have the ten bucks you owe me for our bet, that’s what I have!” cackled Stanley. Ford sighed.

“What bet?” asked Dipper, curious.

“Oh, nothing,” said Stan. “I just bet old Sixer here that you’d get a girl before Mabel got a guy. Thanks to all of my top notch manliness training, of course.”

“Stan!” said Mabel, pouting. “Do you doubt the power of love in my heart?”

“Nah, sweetie,” replied Stan, sympathetic. “I just had faith that Dipper was good at playing the long con and wearing someone down eventually. If the number’s hot, keep hitting!”

“And you learned so much about romance from watching reruns of _The Duchess Approves,”_ poked Ford.

“Hey, it’s something special to find a piece of media that represents who you are inside!” said Stan.

“Here’s your ten dollars,” grumbled Ford, handing him a single bill.

“Delicious,” said Stan, tucking it away into his shirt pocket.

“But Dipper,” said Ford, returning to business, “you said that you closed a twenty foot rift in Seattle last night. Did you encounter any issues with it?”

“It was… chaotic,” admitted Dipper. “Pacifica and Mabel actually got pulled through, but Paz was able to get them back out.”

“Paz,” sneered Stan, mockingly. “Gross.”

“Hey,” said Dipper, chuckling warningly. “She’s my lady now.” Pacifica was glad that the Stans couldn’t see her face grow red, though Mabel certainly could.

“I respect that,” said Stan, with a begrudging yet earnest smile.

“Admirable job, Pacifica!” said Ford, enthusiastic. “When we get back to Gravity Falls in a few months, we will have to debrief about what all you experienced. Other than me, Stanley, Fiddleford, and Mabel, you’re one of the only five people on this version of Earth to have hopped dimensions. What were your first impressions?”

“It smelled bad,” replied Pacifica honestly.

“It usually does,” admitted Ford.

“Come on, Ford,” said Stan, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Save the science talk for later. Let the kids enjoy their summer. You and I need to get this boat pointed south! Bye kids!”

“A good point,” said Ford, clearing his throat. “We should start moving before the ice sets in. Kids,” he continued, “good job on closing that rift. With any luck, weirdness will stay confined to Gravity Falls from now on. Maybe it’s time to establish a new laboratory there…” As he talked, his voice faded away as static started to creep in on the signal.

“Bye Grunkle Stan!” cried Mabel, as Dipper said “Bye Grunkle Ford!” in perfect unison. As much as Dipper was Pacifica’s, it was always a bit of a surprise for her to be reminded exactly how much the twins were alike each other.

“Well,” said Dipper as he tucked the Weslee back into his jacket and a smile broke across his face. “It looks like we’re in the clear. We don’t have to worry about the rifts anymore.” As he said that, both he and Pacifica felt a weight lift from their minds—one that she didn’t even know was there.

“Then that means I get to shred you on the powder!” said Mabel, lightly poking Dipper with one of her ski poles before burying them deep into the snow and, with a mighty grunt, pushing herself onto the slope.

Almost instantly she had one ski up in the air, screaming and flailing wildly as she hurtled down the thin layer of snow that covered the glacier. Dipper and Pacifica were about to give chase, but she soon brought her foot back down and slowed to a crawl, turning to wave at them before making her way much more cautiously down the slope. Dipper and Pacifica breathed a sigh of relief.

“So,” said Dipper, planting his poles in the snow. “I just go?” He was clearly nervous about it.

“We just go,” grinned Pacifica, the both of them pushing off together.

Dipper did not fall, though he did wobble. Pacifica, on the other hand, quickly bent her knees and crouched, hair flowing behind her in the wind as she brought her poles close against her body. Her eyes darted as she read the snow in front of her, looking for tiny bumps and deviations to avoid, cutting a sinuous arc into the powder as she raced across the slope. She could see the pink dot of Mabel far ahead of her, and was very tempted to simply go for speed and catch up with her to prove a point.

However, she soon remembered that Dipper was behind her, and that he was both her boyfriend and had an injured leg. It would probably be a better idea for her to stick closely with him, if but to make sure that he didn’t break his neck. Pacifica extended her left leg and dug her right pole into the snow, spinning in a tight arc and using her previous momentum to send her rocketing back up the slope towards Dipper, who was moving at a much more tentative pace. As she drew up to him, she dug her skis into the snow and sent a wave of powder into his face, completely intentionally, before pulling alongside him.

“Do you know how many bacteria could be in that snow?” asked Dipper, wiping the snow away from his face and spitting out the few flakes that had gotten into his mouth.

“Not enough to make you sick,” said Pacifica.

“You’re right, but that’s not the point,” Dipper replied.

“How is your leg holding up?” asked Pacifica as the two of them traveled down the slope side by side, slowly carving gentle curves into the snow.

“It doesn’t feel great,” he winced as they changed directions. “There’ll probably be more blood by the time we get to the bottom, but I’ll manage. I just can’t go too fast. You can go ahead if you want to.”

“I don’t mind,” said Pacifica, traveling slightly ahead of Dipper and leading the way, picking out the optimal route and making it easier for him to follow. “When life is all about going fast, sometimes it’s nice to slow down and just take things in for a little bit.”

“I agree,” said Dipper, trailing one his poles into the snow as he briefly lost his balance. “It’s nice to finally be able to relax and not have to worry about a dimensional tear popping up in front of us.”

“That’s weird to think about,” replied Pacifica. “I mean, the rifts were already weird. But after Bill, I kind of got used to it… and things are just back to normal now. Or at least Gravity Falls’ version of normal.”

“It’s the kind of normal I like,” said Dipper. “Just weird enough to keep things interesting, but not enough to threaten the world. Something worth investigating, not something worth running from.” Pacifica furrowed her brow in thought. The number of rocks and scattered logs on the glacier were finally decreasing, which allowed both her and Dipper to gain speed down a wide open stretch of ice and snow.

It was an interesting question for her. It had been weirdness that brought the two of them together, but now that that weirdness was gone, or at least contained, what was there that still bound the relationship together? Maybe it was the anomalies that had really held Dipper’s attention, and his affection for her was just a side effect of that.

Suddenly, Dipper went flying past her, hitting a slick spot on the snow that dropped his stability to zero. He was about to wipe out, flipping end over end and likely reopening the wound in his leg, but Pacifica transferred one of her poles to the other hand and reached out, just barely snagging the sleeve of his jacket and pulling him back to his feet. He smiled as he reached out to her and grabbed her by the arm, using her to steady himself.

“Thanks,” he gasped back at her as she smiled. This—this was what bound them together. Catching each other when they fell, even if it was just on a ski slope, and not through a portal to another world. Just because they had always caught each other because of weirdness before didn’t mean that, now that it was contained, they couldn’t still catch each other. Except now, it wouldn’t be because they had to—but because they wanted to.

Pacifica nodded back to Dipper as she let go of him, allowing him to drift off on his own, now under much firmer control of himself on a thin and pliable layer of powder. She leaned forward and, crouching, accelerated to in front of him. The slope of the glacier was about to run out into a wide open snow field close to the parking lot, and she wasn’t about to let Dipper beat her to the bottom, even if she was competing with a guy who had an injured leg.

Hitting the bottom with the muscles in her calves tightly coiled, Pacifica stood up and leaned, throwing up a six foot cloud of snow that completely dusted over Mabel. Mabel had reached the bottom five minutes before the other two had, and was standing there waiting for them impatiently. She shook herself to throw off the weight of the snow as both girls turned to look at Dipper, who was still heading towards the snowfield.

As he reached them, he tried to pull the tips of his skis together in order to slow down, but only succeeded in crossing them and becoming tangled up. He turned on his way down, hitting the snow with his shoulder before sliding to a stop. He stared up at the sky, breathing heavily as the girls leaned over him.

“Still alive, Dipstick?” said Pacifica, extending her hand and helping him to his feet.

“Barely,” he responded, with an expression that was half smile, half grimace. Maybe Pacifica had pushed him a little bit too far. It had been her idea to go skiing—she didn’t want him to be hurt any more than he already was.

“You’ll live,” said Mabel as she started to push her way across the snowfield back to the visitor’s center. “Let’s just get out of the cold. You two lovebirds left me standing in the snow for hours.”

“It was five minutes,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes as she and Dipper followed Mabel. Dipper, recovering from the initial fall, soon began to look much better, restoring Pacifica’s hope that he wasn’t too injured.

Back inside the building, they returned their skis and sat in rocking chairs around the roaring fire that was in the main room. As they warmed up, Pacifica had Dipper prop his leg up on a table. She had a little difficulty rolling up the leg of his jeans, given that it was wet with melted snow, but soon exposed the bandages.

She unrolled them tentatively, encouraged by the fact that there was no large patch of blood on the white fabric. As she finally exposed the wound, she knelt and examined it carefully. The thin red cracks in the scab from before were now thicker, and had oozed slightly. Other than those, however, the injury appeared to be progressing nicely. A thin lattice of tender pink skin had already formed over most of the exposed flesh, and it seemed that exposing it to the cold had actually helped to invigorate the new growth. She reapplied the bandage, starting at a different point on the roll so that the already stained part was facing away from the wound, and rerolled the leg of Dipper’s pants.

“So,” she said, standing up. “Ready to head back to Astoria?” She extended her hands to both Dipper and Mabel and helped them out of their chairs, leaning back and pulling with her weight.

“I suppose so,” said Dipper, standing up with a grunt before testing his weight on the injured leg. It was getting easier for him to move around by the hour. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and led the way to the door, but he was unable to move quickly enough to prevent Mabel from noticing the complimentary coffee station.

Thankfully, they didn’t have the complicated apparatus necessary to make proper Mabel Juice 2.0, but any burst of caffeine was welcome for Mabel, heavily bolstered with a dozen sugar packets. Dipper and Pacifica pulled themselves into the truck with mutual eye rolls as Mabel climbed into the back, sipping on the coffee and humming _Jukebox the Ghost_ songs. This would likely not be a silent drive, and Mabel’s humming turned into her characteristic off-key singing before the trio had even left the park.


	16. Skyfoam

The lights of Portland glistened in the rearview mirror as the truck wound along the banks of the Columbia River. The sun had just set, and Mabel had set with it—the combination of her previous late night conversation with Pacifica, a day full of hiking and skiing, and then crashing from the effects of both sugar and caffeine had proven too much for her, and she now lay passed out in the backseat, snoring lightly.

The Columbia River, rolling along to the right of the truck, was only barely visible in the darkness, the foam of the whitecaps within it illuminated by the full moon above. A blistering wind ran between the hills that lined the river, churning up the water within it into sprays of silver droplets.

The only light within the truck came from the dashboard, and the gentle amber glow of the radio, which pulsed out quiet strains of music, caught from airwaves oversaturated with static. The road was surprisingly empty, though by no means abandoned. It would have been almost completely dark, were it not for that selfsame moon shining in through the windshield, casting both Dipper and Pacifica’s faces in a mixture of shadow and serene illumination.

She looked out at the blackness, a world drawn close by the coming of night but endlessly expansive, while he rested gently, eyes calm on the road, foot gently coaxing the engine into moving them forwards. The inside of the truck was warm, but the glass was cold.

The stars overhead, which were invisible but a few miles back, shrouded by the fluorescent concrete glow of Portland, were peeking out again in force, diamonds studded into the midnight blue fabric of the sky. Pacifica gently leaned forward, searching the map of the sky for the constellation that was embroidered by the world on her boyfriend’s forehead.

Though parts of the sky were obscured by thin clouds, she had soon spotted it, suspended in the sky with the moon almost completely within the scoop. The brightness of the moon made it a little less vibrant—but the idea of the stars holding the moon more than made up for it.

“Guess what I’m looking at?” she whispered to Dipper, turning to look at him, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Let me guess,” Dipper smiled, reaching up to his forehead and pulling back the waves of his hair. “This?”

“That too,” Pacifica chuckled, leaning back in her seat. “It’s still baffling to me how that birthmark ended up being so perfect.”

“Just another weird thing about me,” said Dipper, readjusting his seat. “The list goes on.”

“There can’t be that many weird things about you,” replied Pacifica, rolling her eyes.

“There’s more than you think,” said Dipper, scratching himself behind the ear. “There’s a lot we still don’t know about each other, after all.”

“I know enough to know I like you,” said Pacifica, looking back out at the stars. “Isn’t that enough?”

“As a baseline, yes,” said Dipper. “But I think that you like someone more the more you know about them. And there’s a lot I don’t know about you, either.”

“Oh, there’s not much you need to know about me,” replied Pacifica, shaking her head. As confident as she was in Dipper’s interest in her and her alone, independent of her past and her family, the fear of being recognized as a real Northwest was hard to shake.

“But we need to talk about something,” said Dipper, “we need to learn how to talk, for real. So let’s start with something simple… what’s the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

“African or European?” smirked Pacifica.

“Fine,” said Dipper, smiling as widely as he had ever had before. “Something easier. What’s your favorite color?”

“Hmm…” said Pacifica, thinking it over. “Hot pink. What’s yours?”

“Green,” replied Dipper, without a moment’s hesitation. “Like the forest. A rich, dark green. But there is one other shade that I like.”

“And which might that be?” asked Pacifica, leaning over to the center console and holding herself up over it with her elbows, much closer to Dipper. Her previous experiences with green had not been pleasant.

“This one,” said Dipper, leaning forwards and pointing up at the moon. “Watch this.”

As the moon ascended out of the scoop of the Big Dipper, and the amber clock in the truck ticked forward, something astonishing began to happen. Starting at the top of the moon, barely perceptible, a wave of color washed over it, starting with a very minor change, but soon growing stronger. The pale white of the lunar surface was dyed a lovely and pastel green, like new grass, like a living pond.

Pacifica’s lips gently parted as the moon turned aloe, the previous silver illumination of their faces taking on a new hue, the interior of the truck and the landscape outside shining anew. As green as it was, it didn’t look sickly—but rather, cool and refreshing. It was just bright enough to light up the river beside them, which was beginning to give off a gentle wave of fog. The clouds, which covered up some of the stars, began to burn a rich, deep blue.

“How is it doing that?” asked Pacifica in amazement.

“It’s a lot of things,” said Dipper, leaning forward to look at it as well. “The sky is normally blue because all the other wavelengths of light get filtered out by the air. But when you’re up north as far as we are, and the moon rises and the air cools down for the night and gets denser, the wavelengths shift just enough to turn the white of the moon into green. And also, it’s made of cheese. That’s probably the biggest reason.”

“It’s not, is it?” asked Pacific, with fake seriousness. “When I’m around you, I never can tell.” She continued to stare.

“Not as far as I know, no,” replied Dipper, smiling at seeing Pacifica so enraptured with the moon.

“It’s like an emerald,” she breathed to herself, barely loud enough for Dipper to hear.

“The biggest emerald in the world, or in the sky,” he replied. “I think emeralds are my favorite gemstone.” Pacifica turned back to look at Dipper.

“Mine too,” she said, looking at him. “My parents always said diamonds were the best, but emeralds were always so much… richer.”

“Well, diamonds do have more industrial applications,” acknowledged Dipper, unable even then to not think about business. “But I don’t think those are the diamonds they were talking about.”

“Probably not,” said Pacifica, turning back to continue looking at the moon. Dipper looked at her in profile, and saw her eyes glistening with tears.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching over and gently grabbing her hand, interlacing her fingers with his.

“It’s just so, so pretty,” she said. “If I’m being honest, I don’t think hot pink is my favorite color anymore. It’s this.”

“It is a beautiful moon,” smiled Dipper. “There are so many different colors the moon can be; it’s amazing.”

“Not the moon,” said Pacifica, running her thumb over his knuckles. “This, everything about this. The color of this. You, me, this stupid truck, the moon, the river, the road… even Mabel in the back.” Mabel gently snorted at the sound of her name, but soon fell back to sleep. “It’s beautiful. All of it.”

“Imagine how it looks from my side,” replied Dipper, squeezing her hands. “I’ve got all of that, plus you. It’s hard to beat that.”

“Well, obviously,” sniffled Pacifica, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Even if I don’t look the best right now.”

“You look more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you before,” said Dipper. “And don’t take that the wrong way—you’ve always been beautiful. It’s just that now, we’re talking… and you seem earnestly and honestly you.”

“I am,” said Pacifica, breathing. “I am me. And I like me. And you like me.”

“I don’t see how anyone could not like you,” whispered Dipper.

“Well, you might not, but other people sure do,” replied Pacifica, leaning back from the windshield and pulling her feet up into the seat with her, resting her chin on her knees. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but like… even when the Stans were talking on the Weslee today they sounded like they hated me. Being a Northwest always meant that you were the one doing the hating, because people had to love you. But hanging around you and Mabel has just shown me that we’re hated way more than we’re respected.”

“I think it’s just a matter of time,” sighed Dipper. “I’m not going to tell you that you’re not like your parents—because you aren’t, and you already know that. Me telling you again is useless, because it’s not your mind that needs to be changed; it’s the minds of the people around you. And the only way you can do that is by being you.”

“I don’t know if I'm enough to get myself out of the hole that’s already dug,” mumbled Pacifica.

“You may be short,” said Dipper, earning a glare from Pacifica, “but you’re not that short. You’ve already managed to win over me and Mabel. Candy and Grenda like you. Ford likes you because you did an awesome job of closing the rift and finally sealing away the last of Bill’s influence. I love you because of that. And Grunkle Stan’s got more of a beef with your parents than he does with you—he was dealing with them way before you were even born.”

“I love you too,” said Pacifica, blushing. Dipper didn’t seem to realize what he had been saying earlier, and neither did she, until it was already out. But neither wanted to take it back. All of the air in the truck seemed to become cold as both of them felt their hands go clammy. “And you’re right,” she continued, moving the conversation on. They didn’t need to focus on the magnitude of saying ‘I love you,’ because there simply wasn’t anything to talk about—it was a fact that couldn’t be argued. “I am great at closing rifts. Which is why I want you to teach me more of that weird science stuff.”

“You want me to teach you about weirdness?” said Dipper, confused, yet happy. “No one’s ever asked for that before. It makes me feel like I actually know something.”

“You know a lot of things,” said Pacifica, grinning. “A lot of things that I want to know, because then I can help you with stuff. And also save you if you accidentally open another portal, or make the golf balls mad again.”

“I… would really like that,” replied Dipper. A brief paused followed, before he continued— “And I want you to… teach me how to be fancy. I know it’s weird because you don’t like being fancy, but it’s something that’s a part of your history. And if I can understand that, then I can understand you better—and possibly make any stuffy parties that you have to attend a little more bearable.”

“It’s mostly a lot of which spoon to use for which kind of caviar,” said Pacifica. “But,” she added, blushing, “you don’t look half bad in a tux.”

“I’ve got it way easier than you do,” chuckled Dipper. “I’ve just got to put on a suit. You’ve got dozens of evening dresses. There’s so much more prep involved.”

“You get good at it after a while,” said Pacifica, pulling down the visor in the truck to look in the mirror, briefly shining a brighter yellow light into the interior. She looked at her face and ran her fingers across it. No makeup meant no smudging, but constantly checking herself was something that had been drilled into her from an early age.

“You still look great without makeup,” said Dipper, picking up on what she was doing.

“I know,” said Pacifica, raising her nose in the air and closing the visor, plunging the interior of the truck back into the gentle glow of the emerald moon. “I just like to check up on myself from time to time. Make sure there are no new wrinkles.”

“Because wrinkles mean we lose our faces,” jabbed Dipper playfully.

“I apologized for that,” pointed out Pacifica. “I’m still trying to break some of my habits. And… I really don’t know if I can ever break all of them.”

“It’s not about breaking all of those bad habits,” replied Dipper. “It’s about breaking enough of them to really be you. You may not be your past, but you can never really be independent from it.”

“I want to be independent of it, though,” said Pacifica. “My past isn’t just the things I’ve done, or the things I’ve been through. It’s a worm in my ear, a monkey on my back, a skeleton in my closet. And each of them rings.”

“Maybe that’s part of why I want you to teach me to be fancy,” said Dipper, quietly. “Just so I can understand, even a little bit, the kinds of pressures that you’ve been through. What you’ve dealt with.”

“I won’t teach you like I’ve been taught,” said Pacifica firmly. “So don’t even ask.”

“I wouldn’t,” answered Dipper. “I just have to wonder if the ringing you hear is anything like the voices in my head.”

“What do yours say?” asked Pacifica. “Mine was an incessant chorus of ‘you’re not good enough.’ You’ll never be good enough.”

“Mine are usually more varied,” said Dipper. “What could go wrong, what might go wrong, what will go wrong. It’s like Tyrone, but all the time.” Pacifica wondered who Tyrone was. She would ask Mabel later. “Something lurking behind a corner, waiting to push through into our world and attack me, attack Mabel, Ford, Stan, attack you. It’s not a possibility, it’s a certainty, and unless there’s a rock wall between me and what could go wrong… it’s paralyzing. And even rock walls can crumble.”

“Do you remember your fourteenth birthday?” asked Pacifica, little more than a whisper. “I do.”

“I’m so sorry for that,” said Dipper, leaning back and pulling his cap down over his eyes, just a little. “Of course I remember. I shouldn’t have shown up at your house like that so late at night. I knew how Preston would probably react, but I couldn’t help it. My brain wouldn’t shut up.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t respond,” whispered Pacifica, squeezing his hand tighter. “I didn’t know. And I guess dad was pretty pissed… but that didn’t stop me from getting that present to you.”

“It didn’t,” smiled Dipper. “And it was a very good present. I remember how nervous you looked, constantly looking around for a butler to chase you down. It’s the only time I’ve seen all of your hair so well-hidden under a hat.”

“It was a great present,” boasted Pacifica. “As soon as I knew what was going on, I came to meet you in the middle of your mind. Just like you came into Northwest Manor and met me in the middle of mine. The things we deal with, the pressure, the anxiety… they’re different, but also the same. And we’ve beaten them each time—with each other’s help.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Dipper, smiling as Pacifica made a very good point. “There really isn’t anything that has beaten us whenever the two of us were working together.”

“And that’s as good a place to start as any,” replied Pacifica. “I don’t want either of us to make this relationship into something that it shouldn’t be. It’s weird, and it’s new, and neither of us knows what we’re doing, but if we’re there to help each other when the nights get long, I think we’ll be fine.”

“So do I,” said Dipper, turning towards Pacifica. “And I’d like that too.” He reached over and gently lifted up the center console, creating a bench seat in the front. He then undid Pacifica’s seatbelt with a soft click, and then wrapped his hand around her waist, pulling her next to him as her heart thrilled in her chest. She quickly rebuckled before he had a chance to say anything about proper auto safety.

She was pressed close against Dipper as he drove, leaning against him and just feeling him breathe. She closed her eyes as she snuggled against him under the light of the emerald moon, and could have stayed there forever. Soon, however, she felt Dipper tense up.

“What is it?” she asked without moving. She knew enough to know that something must be on his mind.

“It’s just… there has to be something else,” he said, worried. “This is too good. I’m too happy. The other shoe is going to drop at any moment. Something’s going to go wrong, and it’ll all be over. Someone’ll get hurt, someone’ll die, someone’ll sweep you off your feet. Things are never this nice. Karma isn’t a real thing, of course, but it’s a good principle. Good luck is balanced with the bad, one way or another. And sure I’ve been stabbed in the leg but that’s not that big of a deal really I mean as good asyou were withthe stitches and taking careof me and everythingelsethingsarejusttoogoodthere’snowaythis’lllastanymomentsomething’sgoingtogowrongandIdon’tknowwhattodoaboutitthere’snothingIcandotherearetoomanyvariablestocontrolandBAMsomething’sgoingtoblindsideusandwe’llneverseeitcomingandthat’llbetheworstpartofall—”

“Shut up,” said Pacifica, gently reaching up and pressing her soft finger against his lips. “It’s not going to happen because I’m not going to let it happen. I’m your rock wall. And I’m not going to crumble.” Then, as deeply and as earnestly as she could without forcing his eyes off the road for too long, she reached up and pulled his face to hers, locking him into a kiss.

“There are already so many things to worry about,” she said, smiling. “Let’s not worry each other, or let each other worry about things that we can prevent.”

“What if we can’t prevent it?” asked Dipper, breathing raggedly. “There are some things that just can’t be predicted.”

“But most things can,” replied Pacifica. “We’ll focus on those problems first, and deal with the other ones later. For instance,” she said, casting her eyes downwards as she brought up an unpleasant topic of conversation, but one that needed to be had. Plus, providing a concrete problem would give Dipper something productive to butt his head against. “Our summer ends tomorrow, and we’re not going to see each other for three months. What are we going to do?”

“Hmm…” mumbled Dipper, his heart rate already beginning to balance out as he chewed on the issue at hand. “I have a truck now. I couldn’t come up every week, but I could come up for a long weekend sometime. And in between that, we can talk to each other as often as we need to. And of course, there’s always _Bloodcraft._ ”

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” said Pacifica, kissing him again on the cheek and resting her head on his shoulder. Something else occupied her mind, however, one more thing that needed to be discussed.

“And Dipper,” she began, thankful the light from the moon was dim enough to leave her face mostly obscured, “I’m sorry about before, when we were talking about… bedroom stuff. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, shifting slightly. “It was just a misunderstanding. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“But I think we should talk about it, though,” continued Pacifica. “Because it sounded like I didn’t want to even consider doing anything like that. And that’s… not entirely true.” By this point, both of them were covered in a cold sweat, and able to feel each other’s hearts pounding in close proximity to each other, though each pretended not to notice.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘not entirely true?’” asked Dipper tentatively, shifting again.

“It’s just that… if you did, for instance, want to do something like that, together... I’d be up for it,” replied Pacifica, her throat going dry as she did so. It was astonishing that words so simple could carry such weight, such power. “But we don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to. I won’t push you,” she followed up.

“I… I can’t,” said Dipper, causing Pacifica’s heart to plummet as all of her fears came rushing back. “It’s not because it’s you. It’s _definitely_ not because it’s you. If I’m being honest… I really, really want to,” he continued. “Even right now.” Pacifica’s eyes flashed down to his jeans on instinct before spiking back up. Mabel was in the backseat, after all.

“It’s just that I know myself too well,” he said, lowering his head in something resembling shame. “I know that if we do something like that, I’d never be able to stop worrying again. I’d be stressed out that something would get into the wrong place, or something would go wrong, or something would go right and that you might get… that you could get—”

“We’d use protection, idiot,” scoffed Pacifica. “I’m not about to let anything like that happen. And there’s no need to be insecure about your body, or… performance. I have no idea what I’m doing either.”

“Even with protection,” said Dipper, “the odds aren’t right. There’s a possibility. And even when there’s a possibility, when it comes to something with implications as big as those are… it’s not a gauntlet I want to run.”

“Then we don’t have to run it,” reassured Pacifica. “We won’t do anything that you’re not comfortable with.”

“But it’s not a matter of me being comfortable,” Dipper continued. “I want to show you, in some way, how much you mean to me. To do something for you that’ll make you feel good. To show both myself and you that I’m more than just some little boy you took pity on.”

“You could bring me soup,” suggested Pacifica, shrugging.

“Soup?” asked Dipper, confused.

“Soup,” she reiterated. “And I’d bring you fancier soup in return.” When it became obvious that the metaphor was going over his head, she changed tactics. “I want to show you that too. In some way or another, that you mean more to me than anyone ever has. I want to make you feel good.” She pressed closer up against him, and gently ran one finger through his belt loop. “Because I think this is something worth exploring—not something worth running from.” When Dipper didn’t respond after a few seconds, Pacifica carried on—she was pretty sure that he was holding his breath.

“And there are… other ways that we can do that without going all the way,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and revealing the sparkle of an earring. “And we don’t have to do any of those either, if you don’t want to. But I would very much like to spend a night together in bed with you. Because you are very, very warm.”

“That,” began Dipper, taking a deep breath before he continued, “is something that I think we could manage.” His breathing started to even out, even as his heart kept pounding and Pacifica pulled closer to him. Being together was enough.

“I do, however,” said Pacifica, “have one condition.”

“What is that?” asked Dipper in genuine earnest. Now that the mutual specter of pushing too far was removed, he had the energy and passion to do anything to bring Pacifica into his room, alone. 

“No wall of pillows this time,” said Pacifica, reaching up and poking Dipper in the chest. “And you keep your shirt off.”

“That’s two conditions,” said Dipper, smirking. Her requests were obviously granted, but he had the initiative to push a little further. “That means that I get to have a condition as well.”

“Fair enough,” said Pacifica, her heart pounding as she wondered what it might be. There were a lot of things that could be done, after all, without taking that final step.

“My condition,” began Dipper, “is that I get to be the big spoon.” Pacifica laughed.

“Why wouldn’t you be the big spoon?” she asked, curiously. “I mean, not to sound stereotypical, but I am the girl. You’re the guy. And also, you’re like more than a foot taller than I am.”

“It’s not about the dimensions,” said Dipper, squeezing Pacifica’s waist. “It’s about the fact that you’re Pacifica Northwest, and you’re the kind of girl who takes what she wants. I don’t know if I could stand up to that.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” grinned Pacifica. “But I suppose that I can grant your request. Provided that you don’t mind my hair getting all in your face.”

“It smells nice,” said Dipper, causing Pacifica to smile again, even larger—even small compliments from the people you care about have such a strange power. “I could manage. And maybe even wear it as a coat if you steal all the covers from me.”

“If I steal the covers from you, then that means you’re not doing your job as the big spoon. It’s your responsibility to keep me warm,” said Pacifica pointedly.

“Don’t worry,” whispered Dipper, leaning over and kissing Pacifica on the top of her head before bending closer to her ear. “That’s a responsibility that I am going to be taking _very_ seriously.”

They squeezed each other tighter as the truck rolled on, talking about anything and everything—sometimes in hushed tones for private matters, and sometimes louder as they joked and prodded each other. Only once did they look in the backseat, when Mabel briefly started singing in her sleep.

But Pacifica never moved from the center seat, and Dipper never let go of her as they made their way back to the neon glow of Astoria, guided by the shine of the emerald in the sky.


	17. Conversation

“Mabel,” said Dipper, gently shaking her as he leaned into the backseat. “We’re here.”

“Blech…” mumbled Mabel, wiping the crust from her eyes. “Where is here?”

“Astoria,” said Pacifica as she opened her door and got out of the truck, feet alighting on the pavement. It was relatively early in the night, and dew had yet to stain the grass. The moon, once green, now shone white again, the emerald gleam overpowered by the neon around them. The entire night glowed in an iridescent rainbow, though only the strongest colors made it through the fluorescent streetlights.

“Oh,” she said, stretching out like a cat. “I slept for that long?”

“You missed a lot,” said Dipper, not bothering to elaborate. “I’ve already got us checked in, so let’s head up to the rooms.”

Mabel dragged herself to her feet and stepped out. She didn’t want to wake up too much, so that she could crash whenever she got up to her room—but even in her half-asleep state she noticed that Pacifica and Dipper had a new easiness between them, communicating with their eyes as much as with their words.

“Sheesh,” she said, reaching into the bed of the truck for her bag. “What happened while I was asleep? You guys look like you just… no,” she said, gasping. “You didn’t. Not while I was in the backseat. Gross!”

“No!” said Dipper, throwing his hands up in self-defense. “We haven’t… err, didn’t!” Pacifica blushed. “All we did was talk.”

“Must have been some more conversation,” said Mabel, squinting her eyes suspiciously at the two of them.

“It was,” said Pacifica, winking at Mabel. She enjoyed confusing and torturing her just as much as a real sibling would. Mabel cringed again.

“I say again, gross,” replied Mabel, extending the handle on her small suitcase and wheeling it across the pavement as Dipper handed her her key. Her suitcase had a hard plastic shell that had stood up to lots of abuse—it looked like it may have been pink at one point, but was now mostly covered in stickers. “Just keep it in your bedroom.”

“We have two rooms tonight, too,” said Pacifica, holding up her key.

“A clever ruse to throw me off your trail,” squinted Mabel. Pacifica did her best to keep a stoic face, given that Mabel had just seen perfectly through their plan. Get three rooms, spend the night in one, but have Pacifica back in hers before Mabel woke up to avoid any uncomfortable questions—plus, Pacifica had already booked the three rooms before the trip started, and the cancellation period for a refund was over.

“We’re not that smart,” said Pacifica with a yelp.

“Individually, no,” sniffed Mabel. “But together, it seems like the kind of thing you’d come up with. Just keep it quiet. And don’t be dumb.”

“You just said that we were smart together,” said Dipper, lifting up his own bag and setting it on the pavement before struggling to pick up Pacifica’s—it was, of course, a full-sized suitcase, and much heavier than Dipper and Mabel’s combined.

“Different kinds of smart,” said Mabel. “Sometimes the smart waves get cancelled out and two smart people become dumb together. Which is kind of romantic, but also stupid.”

“The conversation wasn’t good enough to turn us both into idiots,” sighed Pacifica.

“Ouch, bro,” said Mabel, turning to Dipper. “That must sting. Insulting your… conversation skills.” She winked.

“Go to bed, Mabel,” said Dipper, popping up the handles on his and Pacifica’s bags.

“You two too!” replied Mabel, walking towards the stairs and waving behind her.

Dipper and Pacifica looked at each other, shaking their heads and smiling as Dipper locked the truck before making his way up the stairs behind Pacifica. All of their rooms were in a row, and Mabel was in the one closest to the staircase. Dipper claimed the one in the middle, while Pacifica moved to the one on the end. As Pacifica walked past his door to hers, he gently grabbed her arm and spun her into him, pulling her up for a kiss.

“When are you going to come over?” he whispered to her, lips grazing her earlobe. He was well aware of the very real possibility that Mabel was trying to spy on them through the curtains or peephole.

“Give me thirty minutes to shower,” Pacifica whispered back. “And you should shower too. You fell down a mountain today, after all.” She kissed him again before walking to her door, looking over at him one last time as they both stepped into their separate rooms together.

Pacifica was practically bouncing as she flung her suitcase onto her bed with a strength that she had only had before when she threw the dyre—but she was practically vibrating with energy. Normally organized, she unzipped her suitcase and started flinging clothes all over the place—she wouldn’t be needing this bedroom tonight, after all.

She had her toiletries and pajamas… but a decision faced her. She hadn’t expected things to take the turn that they had, and she hadn’t bothered to pack any of the underwear that made her feel especially sexy. She had simple white ones, some that were light blue, and then a set of dark black ones. She had better ones at home, of course, but there had never been an occasion to use them.

The ones she was most proud of were deep, oceanic blue, woven of silken lace that really made her eyes pop… perhaps she had spent more time admiring herself in the mirror with it than she would like to admit. Still, for her, there was only one real choice—so, she grabbed the black panties and bra and headed to the shower.

She moved quickly, wanting to give her hair as much time to dry as possible, massaging the lavender shampoo into her scalp and washing her body with a rose-scented soap. The steam clouded the mirror as she stepped out and dried herself off completely, anywhere and everywhere.

Gently unfolding her underwear, she slipped it onto herself and ran her hand across the mirror, clearing it. She turned around, inspecting herself. Perhaps not the best she had ever looked, but given what she had to work with, it wasn’t bad. She then put her bra on backwards, affixing it in the front before spinning it around into place. She pushed upwards as best she could—unfortunately, she had chosen this one for comfort, not for support.

She knew that she was putting more work into this than she needed to. Dipper wouldn’t care, she wouldn’t care, but everyone around her would—even if there was no one there. She was sure he wouldn’t be paying that much attention to himself. That was one advantage of being a guy, she supposed.

Happy with her body, she opened the bathroom door and let the remaining cloud of steam escape into the bedroom. She stepped out and began picking through the scattered clothes on the bed—eventually settling on a very small pair of shorts and a thin white shirt with a fashionably torn neck, just enough to reveal the black strap running across her shoulder.

As she stood there, she looked at the clock sitting by the pillows. There were still ten minutes before she told Dipper that she would come over to him. She paced around the room, nervous, yet excited. They had drawn boundaries around what they absolutely wouldn’t do, but there was still so much that they could do up to that. Hypersensitive to her surroundings, even the gentle scrape of the fabric of the carpet against her bare feet was titillating—so, when she heard a quiet knock at her door, she practically screamed.

Peeping through the curtains, she saw Dipper standing there sheepishly—in shorts and a white t-shirt, but different ones that he had been wearing the past two nights. His hair was wet, and his feet were bare as he rubbed the back of the neck.

“There are still eight minutes left,” smirked Pacifica as she opened the door for him.

“I couldn’t wait,” he replied breathlessly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him with a thud. “I couldn’t wait,” he reiterated as he swept Pacifica up into a kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist and practically lifting her into the air.

Her face grew red as she kissed back, hungrily, her hands searching for his face.

“Neither could I,” she said, desperately.

“Plus,” Dipper whispered, “your room is farther away from Mabel’s. That means we can be a bit louder.”

Pacifica didn’t say anything as their lips parted, tongues wanting more of each other, just wanting, wanting. Dipper eventually lowered Pacifica back to the ground and her hands left his face, dragging down the white cotton fabric of his shirt.

“Now,” said Pacifica, looking at his chest. “I had my condition.”

“Of course, princess,” grinned Dipper, crossing his arms and grabbing the hem of his shirt, broadening his shoulders as he pulled his shirt up and over his head, shaking his hair once he had done so to get it to fall back into place.

Pacifica’s eyes couldn’t stay off of him. His slim figure was pockmarked by the scars of three years of mystery hunting—but hard. His abs weren’t defined, but they were there, and rippled gently under her fingers as she dragged them across her skin, making him lurch back with a chuckle.

“Did that tickle?” whispered Pacifica earnestly as she reached out to do it again, causing Dipper to break out into rolling peals of laughter. She pressed harder, but he pushed back, stepping forward and wrapping her up in another kiss.

“It does,” he said, smiling, “but I don’t really mind it if it makes you smile.” Pacifica’s hands searched up and over his back, broad and smooth—the occasional patches of scar tissue in no way took away from his warmth, or the pleasure she got from feeling him.

She suddenly gasped as Dipper broke off the kiss and moved down to her neck, his lips grazing across her skin as his hand searched into her scalp and grabbed her hair. Her throat was exposed and Dipper was there with his teeth, like a wild animal—but she didn’t mind. She grabbed back, pulling closer to him as he trailed kisses down her neck and shoulders, gently moving the strap of her bra to the side to kiss where it had been before returning it to its place.

Her hands kept searching down his back, feeling the rippling muscles. Eventually, her hands reached the hemline of his shorts. She wanted to push further around his waist, feeling, feeling, but gently pulled back as Dipper kept kissing. His hands weren’t being idle either.

Pacifica took a shaky breath as his hands started to tease as the hemline of her shirt, gently slipping under the fabric. A wave shivered through her as his warm, soft yet calloused hands felt the gentle curves of her waist, pushing and pulling against the smooth plane of her stomach and serene slope of her back.

His hands searched upwards, eventually scraping against the fabric of her bra, but not touching her breasts before they slipped around to the back and began searching for the latch.

“You know,” breathed Pacifica with a tremor, “it’s a shame that I put this on for you, and you’re going to take it off before you’ve even seen it.”

Dipper chuckled breathlessly as his hands retreated, and Pacifica felt her heart rate slow—only to have it spike up higher when she felt Dipper grab the hem of her shirt and gently pull it up and over her head, exposing her torso as her hair collapsed in a golden wave across her back.

There was little light in the room, but Dipper’s eyes drank in what he could make out hungrily. Pacifica blushed, but pulled closer to him, kissing as their stomachs made contact, the softness her of her meeting the hardness of him. Even through the fabric of her bra, Pacifica could feel the gentle scrape of his chest against hers.

“You know,” replied Dipper, “for someone who talks a big game, your hot little hands haven’t stopped moving either.” Pacifica drew back as she realized that her fingers, once tracing the barely perceptible outline of his abs, had started to drift down lower and were feeling the gentle crinkle of the elastic in his shorts.

Pacific drew her hands back with a fevered blush, and then broke off her contact with Dipper. He stood there, shaking with excitement and fear as Pacifica went to the bed and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, pulling it off of the comforter and throwing it to the side. She then turned to Dipper and extended a finger, gently curling it as she gestured him towards her.

As he approached, she leapt to him and threw her arms around Dipper’s neck, spinning so that his back was facing the bed. Pacifica pushed forward, causing his knees to buckle and for him to fall backwards with her on top of him. However, before that happened, his arm flashed back and caught himself.

“Wait a second,” he said, using his sheer size to push up and off, spinning around so that Pacifica was now facing away from the bed and likely to fall back onto it if he moved forward. “I thought that we agreed that I was going to be the big spoon.”

“We’re not sleeping yet,” said Pacifica, latching her fingers around his neck and spinning, switching their places yet again. “And I’ll get what I want out of you.”

“I know you want me over you as much as I do,” replied Dipper breathlessly, continuing to spin.

“Well,” said Pacifica, pulling him into a kiss with a stern blush. “Maybe.”

They spun several more times, locked together until they were finally moving too fast and lost their balance. Then, limbs tangled up in each other, they collapsed onto the bed, together, sideways.


	18. Glow

Dipper woke up and immediately squeezed his arms together, pulling himself tighter against the warmest pillow he had ever felt in his life. It was only when that pillow mumbled slightly that he remembered where he was.

Dipper’s intention of being the big spoon hadn’t lasted long at all. Instead, he and Pacifica had finally fallen asleep face to face, Pacifica locked in Dipper’s arms and their legs gently bound together. Over the night, it seemed that Dipper had moved down in the bed, and his head was currently resting against Pacifica’s bare chest as she cradled him in her arms.

He froze—not out of fear that Pacifica would be mad he was so close to her, but because he didn’t want to wake her up. After everything they had wound up doing together last night, it would take a lot more than that to be embarrassing. However, it seemed that he had already moved too much.

“You really like them, don’t you?” smirked Pacifica, barely cracking her eyes open just enough to see where Dipper was. Dipper, anchoring his feet against the sheets, separated his slightly sticky skin from Pacifica’s and pushed up to her, drawing to her eye level.

“They’re nice,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

“Ew,” replied Pacifica, reaching up and waving her hand in front of her face as she crinkled her nose. “Morning breath.”

“Yours isn’t great either, princess,” sniffed Dipper. “But I don’t mind it.” He shifted slightly to kiss her on the lips, and her hand reached around to lace itself into the mop of his hair.

They basked in each other’s warmth, the thin white sheet draped over them enough to protect them from the cold of the room. Their lips parted, and Dipper drew Pacifica against his chest, laying together in the early morning sun and simply breathing. The clock on the bedside table revealed that it was only seven in the morning—they had time before Mabel woke up. Their eyes were each closed, but neither was returning to sleep. Savoring each other was more than enough to keep them awake, each of them with underwear on, but exposed torsos—the sheets themselves were still slightly damp from their sweat.

“Last night was fun,” smirked Pacifica, quietly, running her fingers over Dipper’s chest. “Really fun.”

“It was,” smiled Dipper. “You seemed like you enjoyed it.”

“So did you,” replied Pacifica. “I mean… maybe you did need to shower a bit better. The tastes were… strange.” Almost in unison, they reached up and over to two thick paper cups filled with water next to the clock, rehydrating and washing out their mouths.

“I think maybe the tastes are just strange,” said Dipper. “Or, not strange. Not bad. Just new.”

“Very new,” said Pacifica, thinking back and smiling, blushing as she did so. “But not bad at all.” Dipper sighed.

“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him with shining blue eyes.

“Are you real?” Dipper asked, with a look in his eyes of adoration and worry.

“Of course I’m real,” responded Pacifica, resting her head against him. “I’m real, and I’m here right now.”

“It’s just hard to believe,” said Dipper. “That someone as… you as you would want to be here with me. I think I just used up all of the good luck I’ll ever have in my life.”

“You are extremely lucky,” replied Pacifica. “Very lucky indeed. But so am I.”

“I’m just glad that your pupils are circles,” whispered Dipper. Pacifica lowered her head—between body switching and possessions and having your soul ripped out, she supposed that Dipper did have reason to be worried that she wouldn’t be real.

“They’re perfect circles,” said Pacifica, drawing herself up to where Dipper could see them for himself and confirm what she was saying. “Just like everything about me.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Dipper, smirking. “I learned that last night.” Pacifica lightly punched him in the arm. “No, seriously,” he continued. “You did everything great.” Pacifica blushed.

“Thanks…” she said, not wanting to admit to him or to herself how much that compliment meant—she was good at something that meant so much. “You weren’t half bad either,” she winked.

“Well, I think there’s more technique I need to learn,” said Dipper, looking away from her smile and chuckling, embarrassed. “It’s more complicated on my end.”

“Don’t worry,” said Pacifica, pulling herself up into a sitting position, the sheets falling away from in front of her. She noticed that Dipper couldn’t stop his eyes from flashing to her chest. “All you need is practice,” she winked, causing him to blush.

“I’d like that,” replied Dipper, breathlessly.

“Don’t worry,” said Pacifica as she bent over the side of the bed, finding the bra that had fallen to the side in the night and then putting it on. “I’m sure there will be some training sessions in the future. But could you help me strap this on?”

Dipper sat up being her, crossing his legs as he pulled the black straps of fabric to a close behind her back. He had to pull slightly more than he had expected to get the latches to close.

“Why do they make these things so tight?” he asked Pacifica as she stood up and stretched, moving around and beginning to organize the scattered contents of her suitcase.

“Because it looks good, that’s why,” she said, turning towards him and bending over the bed, squeezing her arms together as she did so, causing Dipper to blush. “And also,” she continued, “because there’s not much of a point to it if there’s no stability.”

“That makes sense,” he said, searching around for his shorts and pulling them on before standing up. Pacifica took the chance to look at his leg—it seemed to be healing well. The physical activity of last night hadn’t torn open the scab or the stitches. She would take them out whenever they got back to Gravity Falls later today. “Given all the running that we seem to do, I guess it’s better to keep things under control. Have you seen my shirt?” he asked, unable to find it.

“It’s over here,” said Pacifica, reaching over to it on the desk—it had been thrown all the way across the room over the course of the night. Dipper extended his hand for her to throw it to him, but she instead gently crumpled it up and placed it in her suitcase.

“What are you doing?” asked Dipper with a smirk.

“It’s mine now,” said Pacifica, smiling broadly. It needed to be washed of course, but since last night, she could recognize his smell anywhere. It was rich and salty—like an ocean of warm amber alcohol that it would be far too easy to get drunk on. Strangely, there were only hints of evergreen.

“How am I going to get back to my room?” asked Dipper curiously. He didn’t mind.

“I guess you’d better hurry up and get back before Mabel wakes up,” replied Pacifica. “Otherwise there would be a lot of things to explain. Remember, it’s not me being in your room now—it’s you being in mine, you scoundrel.”

“Fine,” said Dipper, walking over to Pacifica, wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her into a bare chested kiss, her pushing back up to him. “I’ll go and get dressed. It’ll probably be a little bit before Mabel wakes up, so you and I can load our suitcases and then go get some breakfast.”

“I’ll be there,” whispered Pacifica, gently pushing him away from her as she went back to packing, unable to contain her grin.

Last night had been… exhilarating. Hands and kisses had been everywhere, places they had never been, and she savored every moment of it—even the memory, so fresh in her mind, was enough to send blood rushing to her cheeks.

She found a new set of clothes to put on—but thought better of it, and changed underwear before she did so, for the sake of freshness. She also put her contacts back in—having to interrupt last night to take them out and put her glasses on had been almost unbearable. She went to the mirror and checked her hair, smoothing it down from where Dipper’s hands had turned it into a fuzzy ball of static hours before. She donned her jacket and zipped up her suitcase, setting it down on its wheels as she opened the door, letting in a fresh and chilling burst of oceanic air from the outside. As she stepped out onto the balcony, her breath barely fogging up in the cold morning, only two sobering thoughts crossed her mind, discoloring her otherwise happy attitude.

The first was what she was going to tell her father about this. He would not be happy. That much, she knew. His opinion towards Dipper had softened since the mouse exorcism, but he still didn’t like him, and he definitely wouldn’t like him dating his daughter. Especially if he knew what they had done last night.

The second was the fact that Dipper would be leaving for Piedmont tomorrow morning. The three of them would get back to Gravity Falls tonight, and Dipper and Mabel would roll out early the next day—it had been a gloriously long weekend, but they needed to get back in time before school started, and it was a long drive. Pacifica had a little more time before she headed to private school, but Gravity Falls always felt empty without the twins there.

She turned her head as she heard a click to her left. Dipper, wearing a fresh set of jeans and a plaid shirt under his jacket, stepped out of his room with his suitcase in hand. He looked over at Pacifica and extended his hand, closing his fingers together as he beckoned for her to join him. She walked towards him and interlaced her fingers with his as they walked together down the stairs to the parking lot.

“I have another question,” said Pacifica as Dipper stretched out, placing their suitcases in the back of his truck.

“Fire away,” he said, turning back around and standing by her side as they walked together to the reception office. There was practically no one else moving around at the hotel, or even along the streets that ran through town, which meant that they would have the little breakfast nook all to themselves.

“I know that we’re going to do this one way or the other,” she began as Dipper opened the sliding glass door for her, “but how exactly are we going to tell my parents about us?”

“That’s a good question,” asked Dipper as they entered the breakfast room. There wasn’t much in the way of food actually there—no proteins, no bacon, no eggs. Just some cereal, yogurt, and a small basket of bread with single-serve packets of cream cheese and strawberry jam to the side. “What do you think? You’re the one who’s going to have to deal with them the most, so I think you have the deciding say.”

“I don’t really know,” said Pacifica, going for a peach flavored yogurt, peeling back the top and dipping into it with a clear plastic spoon. “I mean, I don’t think there’s any real way to soften the blow. We just need to be honest about it. The question is whether you tell him, or whether we just walk in there holding hands.”

“I think,” began Dipper, spreading a thin layer of cream cheese on a split poppy seed bagel, “that we should just start making out in front of him.”

“Yeah, I think I’d actually like my boyfriend to stay alive,” replied Pacifica, rolling her eyes.

“A fair point,” said Dipper, sighing. “But seriously, I think that I should be the one to tell him. And we shouldn’t be holding hands. That way, if he does get mad, he’ll be more mad at me than he is at you. And I can always run back to the Shack if he starts chasing me.”

“A truly noble sacrifice,” said Pacifica, smiling. “That’s probably a good idea. It’s good to know you’d take a bullet for me.”

“Well, it’s not an actual bullet,” winked Dipper. “And I’ve already been stabbed once this week. I think I’d like to avoid guns for a bit.”

“The Northwest hunting trip is going to be a fun affair for you then, isn’t it?” smirked Pacifica.

“Is that a real thing?” asked Dipper, pausing with the bagel lifted halfway to his mouth.

“It is as far as you know,” said Pacifica, delicately dropping the empty yogurt container into a trash can with a clear plastic liner. “But don’t worry. I’m not that good of a shot.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he replied, thinking back to all of the animal heads in the problem room—they must have come from somewhere. “I don’t want to have a Dick Cheney hunting incident.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Pacifica, smiling as she saw a bright, yet furious, figure open the glass door and stride towards them. “I’ll get you a new face if you need one. I know a guy.”

“The nerve of some people!” shouted Mabel, striding into the breakfast room and throwing her hands in the air. “Leaving their rooms and going to get breakfast without telling anyone! I thought you had been sucked into another dimension.”

“The rifts are all closed, Mabel,” said Dipper, gesturing towards the table with food on it. “We’re fine. Get something to eat. We’ve got a long day of driving ahead of us.”

“Still, you could have told me,” said Mabel, heading straight for the cereal. She opened a fresh box of Lucky Charms and filled a bowl, only to begin the tedious process of picking out all the tiny marshmallows and putting them in a different bowl before pouring the actual cereal back into the bag. “I was freaking out until I saw that your suitcases were already in the truck.” 

“Sorry,” admitted Pacifica as Mabel sat down to join them. “We could at least have slipped a note under your door.”

“You could have,” said Mabel, grinning. “But I understand if you forgot, especially given all the fun you two had last night.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mabel,” stammered Dipper as blood crept into both his and Pacifica’s faces, neither one of them able to hide it.

“Oh, come on,” said Mabel, rolling her eyes. “Don’t bother. Look at the two of you. You’re both practically glowing. Your forehead acne is completely gone, and Pacifica’s eyes don’t look nearly as stressed and purple as they normally do.”

“That’s eye shadow!” defended Pacifica.

“That you use to cover up your being super tired and worn out all the time,” said Mabel, gently squeezing each marshmallow between her fingers before eating it. “But you do look better. Your face looks… more like a real face.”

“How do I look?” asked Dipper, genuinely curious.

“As dumb as always,” said Mabel, throwing a piece of stray cereal that had accidentally made its way into her bowl at Dipper, which he quickly batted away.

“You look fine,” said Pacifica, patting him on the knee and causing his downcast expression to evaporate. “She’s right about the acne, at least.” Dipper smiled.

“Plus,” added Mabel, “you were maybe being just a little bit too loud to go unnoticed.”

They were trapped. They couldn’t ask how loud they were being without admitting that they had been up to something, though it seemed that Mabel was already certain. And they also couldn’t ignore the comment—out of both curiosity and practicality for the future.

“What makes you say that?” asked Dipper, trying to worm out of the situation as best he could.

“Not a lot,” said Mabel, looking intently at the two of them as she talked. “There was a room in between us, after all—but there was a gasp here, a moan there… an ‘oh Paz, oh Paz, oh PAZ!’ that I could just make out,” practically shouting with laughter at the end. Pacifica pinched Dipper’s leg under the table, causing him to wince.

“Relax, I’m no snitch,” said Mabel, finishing off the last of her marshmallows. “Like I said, it’s just a hunch. Even if it’s a very strong one.” She narrowed her eyes as tightly as she could, only barely able to see.

“If you have a hunch, collect some evidence,” said Dipper as he swallowed the last bite of his bagel. “But just be aware that I can leave you stranded in the woods on the way back home.”

“It’d be worth it,” said Mabel, as they all stood up and began making their way to the truck. This time, Mabel led the way, eager as she was to get back to Gravity Falls. Both Dipper and Pacifica breathed a sigh of relief when she left the building, not having noticed the coffee station.

Pacifica returned the keys to the front desk and followed Dipper and Mabel out to the truck, climbing into the passenger seat. She quickly lowered the center console down, before Mabel was able to properly piece two and two together about their drive last night.

The trio piled in and Dipper cranked the engine, the truck roaring to life. He backed up, arm stretched over and around the back of Pacifica’s seat before shifting into drive and surging forwards. Soon, they had returned to Highway 101, heading south. This time, Pacifica was on the side of the road closest to the coast and did not have to stretch out over Dipper to have an uninterrupted view of the sea. Though Dipper largely kept his eyes on the road, he constantly stole glances to his right—though whether he was looking at Pacifica or at the Pacific, she wasn’t sure.

The sky was clear, not marred by the constant drizzle and rain clouds that had plagued them on the drive north. They had a long way to go, but the miles vanished beneath them with barely a whisper. They didn’t talk all the time, riding for long stretches in silence, but every so often a new song would come over the radio, or they would round a turn and see something bold and glorious in the forest or off the coast, which would revive the dying embers of conversation and breathe new life into them.

Pacifica was, above all, calm. For the first time in a long time, her name was accurate to the way she felt. She had finally gotten Dipper, and spent a night together with him. The last remnants of extra-Gravity Falls weirdness had been cleaned up, and she had been the one to do it. She even had a Mabel behind her—a sister that she had never asked for or wanted. It wasn’t as bad as she thought it’d be.

The future was scary, of course. In a few short hours, she would have to have a very awkward conversation with her parents. And a few short hours after that, Dipper and Mabel would be leaving for three months, and she didn’t know how she was going to keep going without them. But her conversation with Mabel two nights ago had reassured her greatly—they would stay friends, that she was sure of. She and Dipper would stay, and grow, as more. The most essential thing would be to bring the fanciest soup she could. And maybe some chocolate.

They rolled past Yachats and turned east, heading into the woods and back into the hills and valleys around Gravity Falls. Mabel begged Dipper to turn in to the Luna Sea Fish House to see Hudson, since he hadn’t called her, even though she had left him her number on the receipt. It took Pacifica twenty minutes to assure her that, by not coming back, she was playing hard to get—and that would just make him want her more.

The trees grew taller as they capped the last hill before the valley of Gravity Falls. As the sun set in the distance, the town appeared lit up in shades of orange and peach beneath them. Northwest Manor sat on a hill in the distance—their immediate destination. Dipper and Mabel had to get such an early start tomorrow that their last goodbye for a while was going to have to be tonight. Dipper seemed to slow down as they passed the water tower and into the town proper.

As the truck drove through town, Pacifica could feel Dipper breathing easier. This was home for him. It wasn’t as glamorous, or even as ruggedly beautiful as a place like Seattle, but it was his. Theirs. Just weird enough. Mabel waved at everyone and everything as they passed through, shouting goodbyes for now.

Candy and Grenda were, of course, coming over for one final sleepover with her tonight. Pacifica had attended one about a year ago, and it had been fun. But she knew that the only thing Mabel and her friends were going to be talking about was her and Dipper, and she didn’t want to add any fuel to that fire—she would prefer to leave some element of mystery in their relationship. For now, at least.

As Dipper pushed the truck up the hill to the Manor, he could feel Pacifica tense, just as he had relaxed a few moments before.

“Hey,” he said, reaching over to her and taking her hand in his. “Things are going to be fine with your parents. I promise. Just let me talk first.” She smiled at him as the main gates opened for her arrival, and Dipper’s new used truck—likely the cheapest vehicle ever to be on the property—rolled through them.


	19. Grilled Cheese

True to Pacifica’s prediction, Preston was not pleased with the news, though he did actually react better than she had been expecting—which meant that he calmly left the room before he started cursing and punching a taxidermized moose. Before he could come back and start chewing them out, Pacifica had taken Dipper by the hand and begun leading him up the grand staircase past her mother.

“Leave the door open Pacifica!” called her mother up after her. They had been expecting Preston to react the worst, and they were right—but Pacifica had also been expecting more reaction out of her mother. She didn’t seem riled up at all—either she was much better at hiding her emotions, or she just didn’t care. Pacifica wasn’t sure which possibility would be worse.

“That could have gone better,” said Dipper, rubbing the back of his head as Pacifica led him down a long corridor to her bedroom.

“It went about as well as I expected,” sighed Pacifica, shaking her head.

“I knew it wasn’t going to go great,” said Dipper, still confused, “but I didn’t say anything rude. I walked up, I said, ‘Mr. Northwest, Pacifica and I are dating.’ That was it!”

“He probably would have liked it if you had asked for his permission first,” said Pacifica.

“Would he have given it?” asked Dipper curiously.

“Oh, of course not,” chuckled Pacifica. “He would have just taken immense satisfaction at telling you no.”

“I think I’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission,” replied Dipper. “When it comes to you, at least.” Pacifica had led them to the entrance to her room, which looked very much like a hotel door—it even had the peephole. The only difference was the rich layer of pink paint that covered the entire thing.

She extended her hand and twisted the doorknob, revealing the inside of her room. Of all the times that Dipper had been to the Northwest Mansion, either to pick Pacifica up for an adventure or to exorcise some kind of ghost, ghoul, or specter, he had never been here.

Her room had a very similar color scheme as her door—largely pink accentuated with cream, but there were highlights of purple and mellower sections of light green. The bed was queen size, with a sturdy frame of solid white wood and sheets of mulberry silk, a light and fluffy comforter thrown over the top of it—along with far more pillows than one girl could ever need. A large vanity with a heart-shaped mirror, lined with marquee lights, sat in the corner along with an equally impressive jewelry box. Next to them was a purple door that likely led to a massive closet and dressing room. Beside the purple door was a green one—probably a bathroom that was connected to the dressing room on the other side.

The room had a large arching roof that multiple chandeliers hung from—they weren’t the most ornate, but the mere fact that they were in a bedroom made them plenty impressive. On the exterior wall, large vertical windows with metal frames and lacing ran all the way to the ceiling. A fairly simple desk, again made of white wood, was against the same wall.

However, in the small alcove created where the leftmost window sat in the wall, Pacifica had piled pillows and blankets, with a stack of books in easy reach. Though it was a bedroom, this looked like the only place where someone spent a lot of time. Dipper thought that he could even make out the crumbs of some Chipackers in the folds of the fabric, though he couldn’t be sure before Pacifica had escorted him to her bed, leaving the door to the hallway open behind them.

“Go ahead and pull your pant leg up,” she said, patting him on the knee as she went to her vanity and pulled out a drawer. She reached in and grabbed a set of rubber-tipped tweezers and a very fine pair of scissors. Tossing them on the bed next to Dipper as he struggled to cuff his jeans, she then went to her desk and pulled out a metallic trash can from underneath. Adding it to the improvised operating table, she then opened the green door and retrieved both a dark green towel and first aid kit from the bathroom.

The little glimpse that Dipper could get of the bathroom was as equally impressive as her room—a large tub equipped with jets, a freestanding shower, wide counter and mirror, and a patterned tile floor like a Roman villa. It was probably heated as well, since there didn’t appear to be any bathmats.

“Now,” said Pacifica, returning to her patient. “This might hurt a little more. I don’t have lidocaine like I did last time.” As she knelt down next to the bed, she saw her father walk by the open door and check in on them. His stance was very defensive, and he was clearly paying very close attention to what was going on and wanted both Dipper and Pacifica to know it.

“I’ll manage it,” said Dipper, grimacing. “I could probably go out to the truck and get some if you wanted me to, though.”

“Yeah,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “And explain to my parents you going out to your truck and coming back wearing a trench coat full of knives and syringes? No thanks. We’ve done enough for one day.”

“They’re going to need to get used to all the weird stuff that we get wrapped up in eventually,” said Dipper as Pacifica lifted up his leg and slid the towel underneath it, protecting her bedding from what was about to happen.

“I agree,” replied Pacifica. “Just not today. Probably a bit down the line. I’m sure that there’s something that’ll happen whenever you come back over the summer or the winter, and we’ll broach that subject then. I’m sure there’s a whole bank of things that you can show me in that journal of yours.” Preston walked by the doorway again, confused at what was happening inside. That being said, it at least didn’t appear sexual, so he left the two of them alone.

“There is one pretty big one,” said Dipper, taking a deep breath as Pacifica picked up the scissors and started to clean them off with an alcoholic wipe. Then, unfolding another one, she wiped across the scab on Dipper’s leg. The blood red lines that had been there yesterday were gone, and in their place was new pink skin. The scab could probably have been taken off, but it was best to leave it in place until it fell off naturally. The only downside was that the scab was partially enveloping some of the stitches, which meant Pacifica would have to be careful with them. “Did I ever tell you that there’s an alien spaceship underneath the town?” Dipper continued

“Really?” asked Pacifica, only half paying attention. She was trying to focus on both removing the stitches, which required some level of technical precision, and keeping Dipper entertained, since that would help him get through it without as much pain.

“Yeah,” said Dipper, shivering as she picked the scissors up and slipped them underneath the first suture. Then, with a firm click, she pulled her hand together and severed the synthetic thread. The skin around the wound relaxed a little bit, but everything appeared to be holding. “Where do you think we got the alien adhesive from?” asked Dipper, wincing.

“I didn’t think that it was actually alien,” said Pacifica, repeating the process as she moved down the length of the wound—severing each stitch from the one next to it, and then cutting over the top of it. As she did so, his calf relaxed even more as the scab started to stretch and ooze blood—but not enough to worry her. She gently used a loose piece of gauze to clear it away. “I thought that that was just some nerd thing you called it.”

“Nope,” grimaced Dipper as Pacifica softly placed the scissors on the towel and picked up the tweezers. “Ford calls it Crash Site Omega. There are lots of goodies down there. I could definitely show it to you sometime.”

“How about when you come up over Christmas break?” replied Pacifica, gently pinching one of the severed pieces of thread. Preston walked by the doorway again—at this point, Pacifica was pretty sure that he was just pacing the hallway from end to end, waiting for one of them to slip up.

“I don’t know about THEN!” yelped Dipper as she started to pull on it. “There’s a lot of snow then,” he continued, gasping for breath. “I’m not sure I could find the entrance if it was buried like that.”

“The summer, then,” replied Pacifica. “Are you sure that you’re going to be able to handle this?” she asked, tugging on the sliced stitch again and causing Dipper to wince.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, even as he closed his eyes in an attempt to separate himself from what was happening. “It’ll just hurt for a little bit. Be quick.”

“Okay,” said Pacifica, grimacing as well. “I believe you. But how about some incentive? For every stitch I manage to pull out that you don’t groan during, I’ll… drive down for a weekend and see you. Your choice of times.”

“I’ll take that bet,” said Dipper, smiling—though that quickly faded as Pacifica completely pulled out the first stitch and dropped it on the towel, causing Dipper to moan as a single drop of blood pooled out of the hole left behind.

“Ooh, that’s one weekend gone,” smirked Pacifica as she moved onto the next one. “And you were talking a big game.”

“It’s not that,” said Dipper. “It’s just that I don’t think your Tesla has the range to get down to Piedmont and back. Those electric engines, you know, are… urgh,” he grunted again as the next stitch was removed.

“Wow,” said Pacifica, shaking her head. “At the rate you’re going, it’s like you don’t want me to visit at all. There are only seven of these left, after all.”

“Fine,” grunted Dipper, “challenge accepted.”

Pacifica moved to the next stitch and pulled it out quickly—Dipper flinched, but did not make a sound. The same pattern repeated for the next five stitches. A yank, a flinch, a drop of blood—another weekend together. The only exception was the last one, which caught a little bit on the way out and made Dipper moan, very loudly, clenching his muscles and almost kicking his leg off of the towel.

“Calm down,” said Pacifica, patting him on the knee. “One more pull.” And with that, the last bit of blue thread was removed from his wound. Some of the scab had fallen off during the process, revealing a large panel of smooth pink skin, ripe with fresh blood vessels. There were tiny puncture marks where the stitches had been, but Pacifica had soon cleaned them up and rewrapped the bandage around his leg. The rest of the healing process would have to be natural.

“What’s my final score?” asked Dipper, breathing beginning to even out as he sat up and swung his leg off of the bed. Pacifica gathered up the towel, still holding the scissors, tweezers, and bloody bits of thread, and dumped the entire thing in her trash can. She had plenty of everything.

“I think you were at… six weekends,” she said, sitting next to him and leaning her head on his shoulder. “Now, make sure that they’re not all in a row,” she said, gently pushing against him. “Or you won’t have any Pacifica to help you out when things get rough.”

“No touching!” said Preston, walking by the doorway yet again and seizing on the opportunity to interrupt the two of them, causing them to jump apart and turn around, looking at him. He made eye contact with both of them, before warily moving on.

“He’s actually showing a lot of restraint,” mumbled Dipper, just loud enough for Pacifica to hear. “I thought he might throw me out.”

“He’s just waiting for a good excuse to,” said Pacifica, as the two went right back to leaning against each other.

“I’ll try not to give him one,” said Dipper, smiling as the first stars started to emerge from the darkening sky, clearly visible through Pacifica’s massive windows.

“I’d appreciate that,” said Pacifica, interlacing her fingers with his. “It’s hard to believe that I’m not going to see you for three months,” he sighed.

“It won’t be that long,” replied Pacifica. “Let’s say you come up to visit me in three weeks, and then I’ll go down to visit you three weeks after that. Plus whichever weekends you choose. I mean, I don’t like being apart. But we’ll manage.”

“I’m just worried that things are going to change,” whispered Dipper. “Your parents might get to you, or someone like Marius could show up at your private school… I don’t want us to drift apart and let things like that get between us. And I mean, you obviously shouldn’t base a relationship on something like this, but what we had last night seemed like a pretty good way to bind us together. There can’t be any of that while we’re apart.”

“Not in person, at least,” replied Pacifica. “I’m going to miss it too. But we’re stronger than that, both together and apart. All we have to do is bring each other soup.”

“What is it with you and soup?” said Dipper, looking at her in confusion. “Is it a metaphor for something?”

“It,” began Pacifica, “is both a metaphor and not. It’s just soup. Simple, yet complex.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that much about soup,” replied Dipper. “There’s tomato and chicken noodle. Maybe a chowder. I’ve heard the word ‘gazpacho’ before, but that’s about it.”

“Those are the most important ones,” said Pacifica. “Tomato goes very well with grilled cheese.”

“I’ve got a very good technique for making grilled cheese,” answered Dipper. “It’s all about the butter, the mayonnaise, and the way you pile the cheese on. It’s delicious.”

“And you cut it in triangles, right?” asked Pacifica.

“Of course,” said Dipper, looking aghast at her. “Triangles are mandatory. Any other shape is sacrilege.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever made a grilled cheese before,” replied Pacifica. “I would like you to teach me.”

“I can definitely teach you,” said Dipper, smiling. “But at least you know how to make fancy soup, right?”

“I know how to get fancy soup,” answered Pacifica, blushing. “Not make it.”

“I would rather that you make it.”

“It might not be as fancy, though.”

“No, but you will have been the one to make it. And that counts for a lot. Just don’t burn yourself.”

“I’ll have my parents get me cooking lessons,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes, before casting them down to where Dipper’s hands held hers. “I’m a little worried that I’m going to change too. Or that you’ll change.” Dipper sighed.

“I don’t think that we can avoid change,” he replied, picking up Pacifica’s chin with his free hand. “People change all the time. We just need to make sure that we change for the better. That way, whenever we see each other, it’s a good surprise to see how we’ve grown.”

“But what makes a good change?” asked Pacifica, breathlessly as Dipper bent his face down to hers.

“Be more you,” answered Dipper, gently pressing his lips against hers before drawing back. “What about for me?”

“Be more you,” said Pacifica, kissing him again. “And maybe work on those abs of yours,” she smirked, poking him in the stomach and causing him to blush. “And for any other changes that your conversation technique might need—we’ll work on that together,” she added with a smirk. Suddenly, they sprang apart as they heard a throat clear from the door behind them. Their heads spun around, terrified of the possibility of seeing Preston.

“Pardon me, miss,” said a butler with a large gray mustache, bowing. “Mr. Northwest would like to inform the young Mr. Pines that his sister appears to be harassing the peacocks.”

“Thank you, Benson,” said Pacifica, relieved. “We’ll be down to deal with it shortly.”

“Very good, miss,” he said, turning around and walking away. “Carry on,” he added with a wink. They both blushed in response.

“Mabel,” they each said in unison, looking at each other.

“I guess it probably is time we get back to the Shack for the night,” sighed Dipper. Pacifica looked crestfallen—there was no way she could hide her disappointment, and no one expected her too.

“Do you have to leave tomorrow?” she asked, pleadingly.

“Yes,” replied Dipper sadly. “School starts next week, and we need to get everything ready for that. Plus, I had a hard enough time convincing my parents to let us go up to Seattle with you. I don’t want to have to cash in any more favors than I have to.”

“I guess your parents wouldn’t have been happy if we had been dating when we left,” said Pacifica, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Definitely not,” said Dipper, shaking his head. “Not as mad as your parents, but I probably will wait a week or two before I mention that we’re a thing.”

“You’ll never make it,” grinned Pacifica. “Mabel’s not going to let that happen. She’ll tell them right away.”

“Probably,” answered Dipped with a smile. “And I should probably go get her before she finishes plucking all of the birds. But before I leave, there’s something I want to give you.” He started reaching into his jacket. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” said Pacifica, blushing as she wondered what it could be. She certainly didn’t need any more jewelry—but her breath caught in her throat when she saw him pull out his journal.

“Dipper,” she said as he handed it to her, and she took it with reverence. “I can’t take this. This… this is you.”

“No,” said Dipper, leaning back on his arms. “I want you to have it.”

“But why?” she asked, tentatively opening it and flipping through the pages with as tender a touch as her fingers would allow. The front of the journal was full, but the back half had yet to be written.

“Two reasons,” said Dipper, looking at her face as she flipped the pages, and not the journal itself. “The first is that we closed the last rift. Weirdness is very concentrated around Gravity Falls, and it drops off very quickly once you exit the Gravity Well. And now that those rifts are closed, there’s going to be even less of it out there for me to study. You’ll have more to write about than I will.”

“You want me to write in it?” asked Pacifica, looking at the blank pages towards the end. The last completed entry was for the dyre—the next page had a tentative sketch of a giant crab, but there was nothing about the juice-sucking swamp starfish. Dipper hadn’t seen it well enough to add anything about it.

“I do,” said Dipper, reaching back into his jacket and handing her the pencil case that came with it. “There’s so much to see if you look. And the more you write about, the more that we have to investigate together when I come back.” Pacifica closed the journal and set it on her lap, the golden pine tree shining up at her.

“What’s the second reason?” she asked, curious. For Dipper to give her his journal like this meant so incredibly much to her—it was the thing that had introduced him to Gravity Falls, had turned him into who he was. It was a token of him, and he was giving it to her.

“This,” said Dipper, flipping the book over and opening the back cover, causing Pacifica’s eyes to grow wide as she instantly recognized the object inside.

It was a thin gray button, with a tiny slot to insert a watch battery into, and the barest outline of computer chips and wires running beneath the plastic covering. She’d know it anywhere—the tracking button she had given him two years ago, the night he had turned up cold and desperate on her doorstep.

“You still have this?” she asked breathlessly as Dipper pulled out his phone and opened the app that came with the tracker.

“Of course,” he said, showing her the map—a glowing, pale green dot on a satellite image of the Northwest Manor. “This way, I can know where you are, and that you’re safe whenever something happens. And I can come to get you if you need me too. Though, it is a long drive, so I may just call the police and tell them where you are if I have to.” He would have kept talking, but Pacifica had wrapped him in a hug, tears gently dripping from her eyes.

“Thank you, Dipper,” she said, squeezing him as tight as she could as he squeezed her back. “I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will,” he said, breaking the hug and wiping away her tears.

“But I can’t track you,” she said, plaintively. “I mean, I can get another button, but not before tomorrow.”

“That’s what these are for,” replied Dipper, holding up his cellphone. “Besides, if I don’t respond, just ask Mabel. She’d rat me out in a heartbeat if I got up to something I shouldn’t.” As if caused by the mention of her name, they both heard Mabel shout and then a panicked warbling from across the manor.

“You better not,” said Pacifica, poking him in the chest.

“I won’t,” he said, smiling. He stood up and pulled Pacifica up with him. She walked over to her desk and opened the biggest drawer in it, holding onto Dipper’s gifts.

“Are you sure you want me to have this?” she asked, turning back to face him again.

“I’m sure,” he answered confidently. “Besides, I’ve got like four more copies at home.” She shook her head as she placed the journal and pencil case into the drawer before closing it.

“You know you’re a dork, right?” she said as she walked over to him, holding his hand as they left her room together.

“Of course,” said Dipper, Pacifica leaning on him as they walked back to the main staircase. “And if I ever stop being like that, I want you to tell me. It’s my best feature.”

“No problem,” she replied, briefly jumping up to peck him on the cheek.

They found Preston and Priscilla standing on their patio, looking horrified as Mabel chased the peacocks around their garden, turning the perfectly manicured paths into mud. Already, she had claimed two giant feathers, which she had tucked into her hair.

“Mabel!” shouted Dipper, causing her to screech to a halt. “Cut it out! We’re leaving.”

“Thank you, boy,” said Preston, turning to look at him sternly. “Tell me, when will you and your… sister be returning to Gravity Falls?”

“Three weeks,” said Dipper confidently, still holding Pacifica’s hand as he turned to face Preston and drew up to his full height—only reaching Preston’s mustache. His statement served as both a reassurance to Pacifica, and a warning to Preston that he didn’t have enough time to try and change his daughter’s mind.

“I look forward to it,” said Preston tersely, not meaning a word of it. Mabel, meanwhile, tracking mud up the perfectly lacquered stairs, had joined the party of five.

“I love those birds!” she said cheerfully, not realizing the mess she had created. “Maybe I should get one to keep Waddles company.”

“They cost three hundred dollars each,” boasted Preston. “Not counting maintenance.”

“Gross,” said Mabel, instantly moving on and refusing to get bogged down by the subtle flaunting.

“Come on,” said Dipper, reaching out and taking his sister by the shoulder. “We need to get going. Soos is expecting us back at the Shack.” The trio left Pacifica’s parents standing on the patio, watching their every move as they walked back to Dipper’s truck.

“Three weeks, you said?” asked Pacifica as Mabel climbed into the backseat and leaned out the window.

“Three weeks,” said Dipper, smiling at her.

“I’ll make sure to have some fancy soup,” said Pacifica, smiling back. Their faces were inches from each other.

“Pacifica,” whispered Dipper, “I’m not so sure that we should kiss like this in front of your parents yet. I mean, they’re just standing there watching us.”

“I got you, bro,” said Mabel, smacking the side of the truck. “HEY, LOOK OVER THERE!” she shouted, pointing into the darkness. “IT’S AN UNKNOWN INDIGENOUS GROUP WAITING TO BE EXPLOITED!”

Preston and Priscilla’s heads snapped that way, just long enough for Pacifica to push up and close the distance between their lips as Dipper wrapped his hands around her waist. They stayed there for just a moment, but a moment was enough to feel each other’s warmth, and the love behind it.

“I’ll bring grilled cheese,” said Dipper as he pulled back and let go of Pacifica. He held onto her hands for a moment longer, but then, acting decisively, stepped around to the other side of the truck and climbed in. As the headlights roared to life, he turned and waved to Pacifica, who waved back, a sad smile on her face.

Their line of sight was broken by Mabel, who clambered up and over into the shotgun seat that she had been denied the entire trip. She winked at Pacifica, rolling down her window as she did so. Suddenly, her eyes went wide.

“Pacifica!” she gasped, holding out her cellphone for the blonde to see. “Look! I left my phone in the car and I’ve got two missed calls from Yachats!”

“I told you,” said Pacifica, smirking, yet almost unable to contain her shock that Hudson the waiter had actually called her. She had not been expecting that at all, but she wasn’t about to give up the credit. “Hard to get works.”

Dipper leaned forward and waved at Pacifica, and was soon joined by Mabel. She waved back as the truck lurched into motion, passing through the gates and heading down the hill back into town. Though the amber lights inside the truck were dim, she could see Dipper and Mabel looking back until the gates had closed behind them. 

She turned around and took a deep breath, expecting to see her parents’ stern silhouettes against the light from inside the house. However, they appeared to have gone back inside, which she was grateful for. She was sure that they were going to have a talk about her newfound relationship eventually, but she was going to be allowed to rest for tonight.

Even knowing that conversation would come, however, didn’t make her feel any less giddy. She felt warmer and more alive with Dipper, and even with Mabel, than she had for years before. If she needed to defend herself, she would do it. But if she needed to defend them, she would do it to the death—and for the three of them together, even more.

She walked back up the stairs, gently kicking the mud that Mabel had tracked onto them back down into the garden. She may have been liberated, but she wasn’t an animal. Stepping into the manor, she closed and locked the door behind her before taking her shoes off and walking up to her room.

Once she was there, she shut the door behind her and turned the lights off. She collapsed on her bed, staring up at the vaulted ceiling before closing her eyes. Three weeks—she could survive that. As happy as she was, it would either pass by in a flash, or take forever. She was tempted to text Dipper already—but she was sure that he needed time to talk with Soos at the Shack. It would be a good idea to give him some space.

She lay back and just breathed, taking in the sensations of being back in her bed after four hard days of travel. As much as she liked sleeping with Dipper, she couldn’t deny that she had missed her mulberry silk sheets—though she would have much preferred having the two of them together. Maybe if her parents left on a business trip some weekend.

Suddenly, she felt her phone vibrate. She cracked her eyes and looked at the screen. It was a message from Dipper—'We got to the Shack safely. Sleep tight.’

She smiled. Already he was sending her messages letting her know when he got places. She sent him a kissing emoji, which he responded to with the same kiss, and a crescent moon. Pacifica turned her head and looked out the window.

The moon was smaller than it had been last night, having begun to wane. They were also farther south than they were last night, and there were some lights at the Northwest Manor that never went off—but even with that, the moon still shone a pale green. It was amazing that she had never noticed it before.

As the moon shone in, casting her room in an eerily comfortable hue, she rose to her feet and walked to her desk. She opened the drawer and pulled out Dipper’s journal and pencil case, taking it over to her reading nook in the window. She pulled a warm, fluffy blanket over herself and turned a lamp on, spinning it away from her—just enough to shed a warm incandescent yellow on the journal, while still yielding to the smiling emerald moon.

She cracked open the journal and turned to the page with the giant crab. It had already been filled with text, but the rough sketch of the crustacean was only half completed. She unzipped the pencil case and began filling in the details, adding depth and motion to it as best she could—Dipper had already started and erased the sketch half a dozen times. After twenty minutes of solid work, she had done what she could and flipped to the next page.

This was going to be the entry about the swamp starfish. She reached back into the pencil case and drew out a fresh pen, considering what her first words were going to be. However, the first thing that her fingers grasped was the thicker UV pen. She wasn’t going to start writing in secret code just yet, so she began to return it to the pouch.

However, she was curious to know what secrets lay hidden in the journal. She would read the whole thing tomorrow, of course, but there was nothing wrong with getting a sneak peek tonight. She flipped to the beginning of the journal, and, casting the pages in the pale blue glow of the UV light, began to read.

Most of the pages had no hidden text on them at all. There just wasn’t anything that needed to be kept a particular secret. There were some little hints about where Dipper had found certain things, and some specific instructions for a more effective exorcism. Indeed, the page with the most invisible writing on it had been the one with the dyre, where Dipper had praised her combat skills—Pacifica’s name gently written below it in a curving script.

She was about to flip the blacklight off when she saw a small peek of glowing ink on the next empty page. She flipped to where she had been about to write and saw, in large, simple text— _‘I LOVE YOU.’_ Beneath it, Dipper had signed his name and added a little drawing—a llama next to a pine tree.

Pacifica shook her head and smiled as she flipped the light off. This was supposed to be a serious field journal. She couldn’t believe that Dipper would put something so emotionally honest into it—but she loved it, more than anything she had ever been given before. It was almost better than last night. Almost. She flipped to the next page, deciding to leave that one unspoiled.

She would have to add a message of her own for him on some other page, but not tonight. As for now, there was science to do—observations to record, things to test, and weirdness to find. She returned the blacklight to the pouch and pulled out a fresh pen, one filled with a rich blue ink. She took the cap off with a satisfying pop, and, holding it between her teeth, began to write.


End file.
